THE   MODERN   DRAMA   SERIES 
EDITED   BY   EDWIN   BJORKMAN 


SAVVA    •    THE    LIFE    OF    MAN 
BY    LEONID    ANDREYEV 


SAVVA 
THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


TWO    PLAYS    BY 


LEONID  ANDREYEV 


BOSTON 

LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY 

1917 


Copyright,  1914, 
BY  LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY. 


This  edition  is  authorized  by  Leonid  Andreyev,  who  has 
selected  the  plays  included  in  it. 

All  Dramatic  rights  reserved  by 
Edurin  Bjorkman 


COMPOSITION    AMD    ELECT1OTYP 1*0    IT 

int.  PLIMPTON  pazsa  •  MO*WOOD  •  MAS*  •  u  •  •  •  A 

PIESSWOU     »T    S.    J.     PAUCHtLL    k    CO.     BOSTON 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

INTRODUCTION  vii 

CHRONOLOGICAL  LIST  OF  PLATS  BY  LEONID 

ANDREYEV  xvi 

SAWA  1 

THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  151 


INTRODUCTION 

FOR  the  last  twenty  years  Leonid  Andreyev  and 
Maxim  Gorky  have  by  turns  occupied  the  centre 
of  the  stage  of  Russian  literature.  Prophetic  vision  is 
no  longer  required  for  an  estimate  of  their  permanent 
contribution  to  the  intellectual  and  literary  develop- 
ment of  Russia.  It  represents  the  highest  ideal  ex- 
pression of  a  period  in  Russian  history  that  was  preg- 
nant with  stirring  and  far-reaching  events  —  the  period 
of  revolution  and  counter-revolution.  It  was  a  period 
when  Russian  society  passed  from  mood  to  mood  at  an 
extremely  rapid  tempo :  from  energetic  aggressiveness, 
exultation,  high  hope,  and  confident  trust  in  the  tri- 
umph of  the  people's  cause  to  apathetic  inaction, 
gloom,  despair,  frivolity,  and  religious  mysticism. 
This  important  dramatic  epoch  in  the  national  life  of 
Russia  Andreyev  and  Gorky  wrote  down  with  such 
force  and  passion  that  they  became  recognized  at  once 
as  the  leading  exponents  of  their  time. 

Despite  this  close  external  association,  their  work 
differs  essentially  in  character.  In  fact,  it  is  scarcely 
possible  to  conceive  of  greater  artistic  contrasts. 
Gorky  is  plain,  direct,  broad,  realistic,  elemental.  His 
art  is  native,  not  acquired.  Civilization  and  what 
learning  he  obtained  later  through  the  reading  of  books 
have  influenced,  not  the  manner  or  method  of  his  writ- 


iNTKonrrnoN 


ing,  but  only  its  purpos,-  and  occasionally  its  subject 
matter.  It  is  significant  to  watch  tin-  dismal  failure 
Gorky  makes  of  it  whenever,  in  concession  to  tin-  mod- 
«  TU  literary  fashion.  In-  attempts  the  mystical.  Sym- 
bolism is  foreign  to  him  except  in  its  broad.  --I  aspects. 
II  »  .•:.•!•;.'.  rs,  though  hailing  from  ti  world  hut  little 
known,  and  often  extreme  and  extremely  peculiar,  arc 
on  the  whole  normal. 

Andreyev,  on  the  other  hand,  is  a  child  of  civili/a- 
tion,  steeped  in  its  culture,  and  while  as  rebellious 
against  some  of  the  things  of  civili/ation  as  Gorky,  he 
reacts  to  them  in  quite  ft  different  way.  He  is  wondrously 
M  iisitive  to  every  development,  quickly  appropriates 
what  is  new,  and  always  keeps  in  the  vanguard.  His 
art  is  the  resultant  of  all  that  the  past  ages  have  given 
us,  of  the  things  that  we  have  learned  in  our  own  day, 
and  of  what  we  are  just  now  learning.  With  this  art 
Andreyev  succeeds  in  communicating  ideas,  thoughts, 
and  feelings  so  fine,  so  tenuous,  so  indefinite  as  to 
appear  to  transcend  human  expression.  He  does  not 
care  whether  the  things  he  writes  about  are  true, 
whether  his  characters  are  real.  What  he  aims  to  give 
is  a  true  impression.  And  to  convey  this  impression 
he  does  not  scorn  to  use  mysticism,  symbolism,  or  even 
plain  realism.  His  favorite  characters  are  degenerates, 
hopaths,  abnormal  eccentrics,  or  just  creatures  of 
fancy  corresponding  to  no  reality.  Frequently,  how- 
.  the  characters,  whether  real  or  unreal,  arc  as 
such  of  merely  secondary  importance,  the  chief  aim 
being  the  interpretation  of  an  idea  or  set  of  ideas,  and 
liaracters  functioning  primarily  only  as  a  medium 
for  the  embodiment  of  those  ideas. 

In  one  Gorky  and  Andreyev  are  completely 


INTRODUCTION  ix 

at  one  —  in  their  bold  aggressiveness.  The  emphatic 
tone,  the  attitude  of  attack,  first  introduced  into  Rus- 
sian literature  by  Gorky,  was  soon  adopted  by  most  of 
his  young  contemporaries,  and  became  the  characteris- 
tic mark  of  the  literature  of  the  Revolution.  By  that 
token  the  literature  of  Young  Russia  of  that  day  is 
as  easily  recognized  as  is  the  English  literature  of  the 
Dryden  and  Pope  epoch  by  its  sententiousness.  It 
contrasts  sharply  with  the  tone  of  passive  resignation 
and  hopelessness  of  the  preceding  period.  Even  Chek- 
hov, the  greatest  representative  of  what  may  be  called 
the  period  of  despondence,  was  caught  by  the  new 
spirit  of  optimism  and  activism,  so  that  he  reflected 
clearly  the  new  influence  in  his  later  works.  But  while 
in  Gorky  the  revolt  is  chiefly  social  —  manifesting  it- 
self through  the  world  of  the  submerged  tenth,  the 
disinherited  masses,  les  miserables,  who,  becoming 
conscious  of  their  wrongs,  hurl  defiance  at  their  op- 
pressors, make  mock  of  their  civilization,  and  threat- 
en the  very  foundations  of  the  old  order  —  Andreyev 
transfers  his  rebellion  to  the  higher  regions  of  thought 
and  philosophy,  to  problems  that  go  beyond  the  merely 
better  or  worse  social  existence,  and  asks  the  larger, 
much  more  difficult  questions  concerning  the  general 
destiny  of  man,  the  meaning  of  life  and  the  reason  for 
death. 

Social  problems,  it  is  true,  also  interest  Andreyev. 
"  The  Red  Laugh  "  is  an  attack  on  war  through  a  por- 
trayal of  the  ghastly  horrors  of  the  Russo-Japanese 
War;  "  Sawa,"  one  of  the  plays  of  this  volume,  is 
taken  bodily  (with  a  poet's  license,  of  course)  from 
the  actual  revolutionary  life  of  Russia ;  "  King 
Hunger  "  is  the  tragedy  of  the  uprising  of  the  hungry 


[NTROD1 


ma»8CS  and  the  un.i.  r\\oi  Id.  Indeed,  of  the  \\orks 
writtt  n  during  the  conflict  and  for  sonic  time  afterward, 
all  centre  inon-  or  I,-,-,  upon  the  social  problems  which 
then  agitated  Russia.  Hut  with  Aiidivuv  the  treat- 
ment of  all  questions  tends  to  assume  a  universal  as- 
pect. He  envisages  phenomena  from  a  broad,  cosmic 

1  of  view  ;   he  beholds  things  tub  specie  aeternitatix. 

philosophical  tendency  of  his  mind,  though  amply 
displayed  »\«-n  in  works  like  "  Savva " —  which  is 
purely  a  character  and  social  drama  —  manifests  it. self 
chiefly  by  his  strong  propensity  for  such  subjects  as 
ited  in  "To  the  Stars,"  "The  Life  of  Man/' 
and  "Anathema."  In  these  plays  Andreyev  plunge-; 
into  the  deepest  problems  of  existence,  and  seeks  to 
posit  once  more  and,  if  possible,  to  solve  in  accordance 
with  the  modern  spirit  and  modern  knowledge  those 
<jiiestions  over  which  the  mightiest  brains  of  man  have 
labored  for  centuries :  Whence?  Whither?  What  is 
the  significance  of  man's  life?  Why  is  death? 

If  Spinoza's  dictum  be  true,  that  "a  wise  man's  mcdi- 

'ii  is  not  of  death  but  of  life,"  then  Andreyev   is 
surely  not  a  wise  man.     Some  philosophers  might  have 
written  their  works  even  without  a  guarantee  a^  . 
immortality,    though    Schopenhauer,   who   exi 
great   influence  on   the  young  Andreyev,  was  of  the 
opinion   that  "  without  death   there  would   hardly   be 
any  philosophy";    but  of  Andreyev  it  is  certain  that 
the  bulk  of  his  works  would  not  have  been  written,  and 
could  not  be  what  they  are,  were  it  not  for  the  fact  of 
death.    If  there  is  one  idea  that  can  be  said  to  dominate 

mthor  of  "The  Life  of  Man,"  it  is  the  idea  of 
death.  Constantly  h<-  keeps  asking:  Wrhy  all  this 
struggling,  all  this  pain,  all  this  misery  in  the  world, 


INTRODUCTION  xi 

if  it  must  end  in  nothing?  The  suffering  of  the  great 
mass  of  mankind  makes  life  meaningless  while  it  lasts, 
and  death  puts  an  end  even  to  this  life.  Again  and 
again  Andreyev  harks  back  to  the  one  thought  from 
which  all  his  other  thoughts  seem  to  flow  as  from  their 
fountain-head.  Lazarus,  in  the  story  by  that  name,  is 
but  the  embodiment  of  death.  All  who  behold  him, 
who  look  into  his  eyes,  are  never  again  the  same  as  they 
were;  indeed,  most  of  them  are  utterly  ruined.  "  The 
Seven  Who  Were  Hanged  "  tells  how  differently  dif- 
ferent persons  take  death.  Grim  death  lurks  in  the 
background  of  almost  every  work,  casting  a  fearful 
gloom,  mocking  the  life  of  man,  laughing  to  scorn  his 
joys  and  his  sorrows,  propounding,  sphinx-like,  the 
big  riddle  that  no  Oedipus  will  ever  be  able  to  solve. 

For  it  is  not  merely  the  destructive  power  of  death, 
not  merely  its  negation  of  life,  that  terrifies  our  author. 
The  pitchy  darkness  that  stretches  beyond,  the  im- 
possibility of  penetrating  the  veil  that  separates 
existence  from  non-existence  —  in  a  word,  the  riddle 
of  the  universe  —  is,  to  a  mind  constituted  like 
Andreyev's,  a  source  of  perhaps  even  greater  disquiet. 
Never  was  a  man  hungrier  than  he  with  "  the  insatiable 
hunger  for  Eternity  " ;  never  was  a  man  more  eager 
to  pierce  the  mystery  of  life  and  catch  a  glimpse  of 
the  beyond  while  yet  alive. 

Combined  with  the  perplexing  darkness  that  so  piti- 
fully limits  man's  vision  is  the  indifference  of  the  forces 
that  govern  his  destiny.  The  wrongs  he  suffers  may 
cry  aloud  to  heaven,  but  heaven  does  not  hear  him. 
Whether  he  writhe  in  agony  or  be  prostrated  in  the 
dust  (against  all  reason  and  justice),  he  has  no  appeal. 
Whole  societies,  the  bulk  of  mankind,  may  be  plunged 


xii  INTRODUCTION 

in  misery —  who  or  wha1  M.m  is  Rtrrounded 

by   indifl  H   "ill   as  by  darkn 

Often,  when  mi  idea  has  gained  a  powerful  hold  on 
Andri  vcv,  lie  pursues  it  a  long  time,  presenting  it 
under  various  aspects,  until  at  last  it  assumes  its 
final  form,  rounded  and  completed,  as  it  were,  in  some 
figure  or  symbol.  As  such  it  appears  either  as  the 
leading  theme  of  an  entire  story  or  drama,  or  as  an 
important  subordinate  theme.  Thus  we  have  seen  that 
the  idea  of  death  finds  concrete  expn -^ion  in  the 
character  of  Laxarus.  The  idea  of  loneliness,  of  tin- 
isolation  of  the  individual  from  all  other  human  brin^-. 
though  he  be  physically  surrounded  by  large  num- 
bers, is  embodied  in  the  story  of  "The  City."  Simi 
larly  the  conception  of  the  mystery  and  the  indifference 
by  which  man  finds  himself  confronted  is  definitely  set 
forth  in  the  figure  of  Someone  in  Gray  in  "The  Life 
of  Man." 

The  riddle,  the  indifference —  these  are  the  two  char- 
acteristics of  human  destiny  that  loom  large  in 
Andreyev's  conception  of  it  as  set  forth  in  that  figure. 
Someone  in  Gray  —  who  is  he?  No  one  knows.  No 
definite  name  can  be  given  him,  for  no  one  knows.  He 
is  mysterious  in  "  The  Life  of  Man,"  where  he  is 
Mans  constant  companion ;  he  is  mysterious  in  "  Ana- 
thema," where  he  guards  the  gate  leading  from  this 
finite  world  to  eternity.  And  as  Man's  companion  he 
looks  on  indifferently,  apparently  unconcerned  whether 
Mnn  meets  with  good  or  bad  fortune.  Man's  ju 
do  not  move  him.  Man's  curses  leave  him  calm. 

It  is  Andreyev's  gloomy  philosophy,  no  doubt,  that 
so  often  causes  him  to  make  his  he-roes  lonely,  so  that 
loneliness  is  developed  into  a  principle  of  human  exist- 


INTRODUCTION  xiii 

ence,  in  some  cases,  as  in  "  The  City,"  becoming  the 
dominant  influence  over  a  man's  life.  Particularly  the 
men  whom  life  has  treated  senselessly  and  cruelly,  whom 
it  has  dealt  blow  after  blow  until  their  spirits  are 
crushed  out  —  it  is  such  men  in  particular  who  become 
lonely,  seek  isolation  and  retirement,  and  slink  away 
into  some  hole  to  die  alone.  This  is  the  significance  of 
the  saloon  scene  in  "  The  Life  of  Man."  The  environ- 
ment of  the  drunkards  who  are  withdrawn  from  life, 
and  therefore  lonely  themselves,  accentuates  the  lone- 
liness of  Man  in  the  last  scene.  It  is  his  loneliness  that 
Andreyev  desired  to  bring  into  relief.  His  frequenting 
the  saloon  is  but  an  immaterial  detail,  one  of  the  means 
of  emphasizing  this  idea.  To  remove  all  possible  mis- 
understanding on  this  point,  Andreyev  wrote  a  variant 
of  the  last  scene,  "  The  Death  of  Man,"  in  which,  in- 
stead of  dying  in  a  saloon  surrounded  by  drunkards, 
Man  dies  in  his  own  house  surrounded  by  his  heirs. 
"  The  loneliness  of  the  dying  and  unhappy  man," 
Andreyev  wrote  in  a  prefatory  note  to  this  variant, 
"  may  just  as  fully  be  characterized  by  the  presence 
of  the  Heirs." 

However,  for  all  the  gloom  of  his  works,  Andreyev  is 
not  a  pessimist.  Under  one  of  his  pictures  he  has 
written :  "  Though  it  destroys  individuals,  the  truth 
saves  mankind."  The  misery  in  the  world  may  be  ever 
so  great;  the  problems  that  force  themselves  upon 
man's  mind  may  seem  unanswerable ;  the  happenings 
in  the  external  world  may  fill  his  soul  with  utter  dark- 
ness, so  that  he  despairs  of  finding  any  meaning,  any 
justification  in  life.  And  yet,  though  his  reason  deny 
it,  his  soul  tells  him:  "The  truth  saves  mankind." 
After  all,  Man  is  not  a  failure.  For  though  misfor- 


INTRODUCTION 

-  crowd  upon  him.  In-  remains  intact  in  soul,  1111- 
hroken  in  spirit.  lie  c  Tries  oil'  the  victory  because  he 
does  not  surrender.  II>  dies  as  a  Mip« -rman,  big  in  his 
defiance  of  destiny.  This  must  be  the  meaning  An- 
dreyev attached  to  .J/<w'.v  life.  We  find  an  interpret -i- 
tion  of  it,  as  it  were,  in  "  Anathema,"  in  which  .SV>//. 
sums  up  the  fate  of  David  —  who  lived  an  even  sadder 
life  than  Mun  nnd  died  a  more  horrible  death  —  in 
these  words:  "David  has  achieved  immortality,  and  he 
immortal  in  the  dcathlessncss  of  fire.  David  has 
achil  ved  immortality*  and  he  Ures  immortal  in  the 
dcathlessness  of  light  which  is  life." 

Andreyev  was  horn  at  Orel  in  1871  and  was  gradu- 
ated from  the  gymnasium  there.  According  to  his  own 
testimony,  he  never  seems  to  have  been  a  promising 
student.  "  In  the  seventh  form,"  he  tells  us,  "  I  was 
always  at  the  bottom  of  my  class.'*  He  lost  his  father 
early,  and  often  went  hungry  while  studying  law  at  the 
1'niversity  of  St.  Petersburg.  In  the  University  of 
Moscow,  to  which  he  went  next,  he  fared  better.  One 
of  the  means  that  he  used  to  eke  out  a  livelihood  was 
portrait  painting  to  order,  and  in  this  work  he  finally 
attained  such  proficiency  that  his  price  rose  from  $1.50 
apiece  to  $6.00. 

In  1897  he  began  to  practise  law,  but  he  gave  most 
of  his  time  to  reporting  court  cases  for  the  "  Courier," 
a  Moscow  newspaper,  and  later  to  writing  fcnilh-totm 
and  stories.  He  tried  only  one  civil  case,  and  that  one 
he  lost.  His  work  in  the  "  Courier  "  attracted  Gorky's 
attention,  and  the  older  writer  zealously  interested  him- 
self in  Andreyev's  behalf. 

In  1902  his  story  named  "The  Abyss"  appeared 
and  created  a  sensation  immediately.  Even  Coui 


INTRODUCTION  xv 

Tolstoy  joined  in  the  dispute  which  raged  over  this 
story,  attacking  it  as  matter  unfit  for  literature.  But 
the  verdict  of  Andreyev's  generation  was  in  his  favor. 
Since  then  nearly  every  new  work  of  his  has  been  re- 
ceived as  an  important  event  in  Russia  and  has  sent  the 
critics  scurrying  to  his  attack  or  defence.  His  first 
drama,  "  To  the  Stars,"  appeared  while  the  Russians 
were  engaged  in  fighting  for  liberty  (1905),  and, 
naturally  enough,  it  reflects  that  struggle.  "  Savva  " 
was  published  early  the  next  year,  and  "  The  Life  of 
Man "  later  in  the  same  year.  The  production  of 
"  Savva  "  is  prohibited  in  Russia.  It  has  been  played 
in  Vienna  and  Berlin,  and  recently  it  was  staged  again 
in  Berlin  by  "  Die  Freie  Biihne,"  meeting  with  signal 
success. 


A    CHRONOLOGICAL   LIST   OF   PLAYS 
By    LEONID    ANDREYEV 

To  THE  STABS  (K  Xvi./dam),  1905; 

SAW  A  (Savva),  1906; 

Tin    I.i IK  OF  MAN  (Zhizn  Chelovieka),  1906; 

KING  HUNGER  (TzarGolod),  1907; 

THE  BLACK  MASKS  (Chiorniya  Maski),  1908; 

THE  DAYS  OF  OUR  LIFE  (Dni  Nashcy  Zhizni),  1908; 

ANATHEMA  (Anatema),  1909; 

. \NMSSA  (Anfissa),  1909; 

GAUDEAMCS  (Gaudeamus),  1910; 

THE  OCEAN  (Okcan),  1911; 

"  HONOR  "  ("  Chest  "),  1911  (  ?)  ; 

THE   PRETTY   SABINE    WOMEN    (Prekrasniya    Sabini- 

anki),  1911; 

PROFESSOR  STORITZYN  (Professor  Storitzyn),  1912; 
CATHERINE  (Yekaterina  Ivanovna),  191. 'i; 
THOU  SHALT  NOT  KILL  (Ne  Ubi),  1914. 


SAVVA   OR   IGNIS    SANAT 

(SAVVA) 

A  PLAY  IN  FOUR  ACTS 
1906 


PERSONS 

iTAXoncn  TROPINTN.  innkeeper  in  a  monadic  suburb.  An 
m  of  about  fifty,  u-ith  an  important  manner  and  a  stirn, 
dignified  way  of  speaking. 

ANTON  (Tony),  anywhere  from  thirty-fife  to  thirty-eight,  bloated  from 
drinking  and  always  under  the.  influence  of  alcohol.  Ilia  face  it 
btoodless,  tad,  and  sleepy.  He  hat  a  sparse  beard,  speaks  slowly  and 
painfully,  and  never  taught. 

OLTHPIADA  (I.ipa),  twenty-fight  yean  old.  She  if  fair  and  rather  good- 
looking.  There  it  a  touch  of  monastic  severity  in  her  drett. 

SATVA,  twenty-three,  large,  broad-shouldered,  with  a  suggestion  of  the. 
peasant  in  his  looks.  He  walks  with  a  slight  stoop,  clborr*  nut.  fret 
in.  The  motions  of  his  hands  are  rounded  and  graceful,  his  palms 
being  turned  up  as  if  he  irere  carrying  something.  ///.»  f ml  arcs  are 
large  and  rough-hewn,  ami  AM  cheeks  and  chin  are  covered  trith  a 
soft  light  down.  When  agitated  or  angry,  he  turns  gray  as  dust,  his 
movements  become  quick  and  agile,  and  his  stoop  disappears.  lie 
wean  the  blouse  and  boots  of  a  workingman. 

PELAGUKTA,  a  freckled,  colorless  woman,  of  about  thirty,  wearing  the 
ordinary  dress  of  her  doss.  She  is  dirty  and  untidy. 

SFKRANBKY  GRIGORT  PETROVICH,  an  ex-seminarist;  tall,  very  lean,  with 
a  pale,  long  face,  and  a  tuft  of  dark  hair  on  his  chin.  He  has  long, 
smooth  hair  parted  in  the  middle  and  falling  on  each  side  of  his  face, 
He  is  dressed  either  in  a  long,  dark  overcoat  or  in  a  dark  frock-coat. 

FATHER  KONDRATT,  a  friar,  forty-two  years  old,  ugly,  narrow-chested, 
with  swollen,  animated  eyes. 

VASBTA.  a  novice,  a  strong  and  athletic  youth  of  nineteen.  lie  has  a  round, 
cheerful,  smiling  face,  and  curly,  lustrous  hair. 

KINO  HEROD,  a  pilgrim,  about  fifty.  He  has  a  dry,  emaciated  face,  black 
from  sunburn  and  road  dust.  His  gray,  dishevelled  hair  and  brunt 
give  him  a  savage  appearance.  He  has  only  one  arm,  the  left.  He  is 
as  tall  as  Sana. 

A  FAT  MONK. 

A  GRAY  MONK. 

A  MAN  IN  PEASANT  OVERCOAT. 

Monks,  pilgrims,  cripples,  beggars,  blind  men  and  women,  monstrosities. 

The  action  takes  place  at  the  beginning  of  the  twentieth  century  in  a  rich 
monastery  celebrated  for  its  wonder-working  ikon  of  the  Saviour.  There 
is  an  interval  of  about  two  weeks  between  the  first  and  the  last  act. 


SAVVA 

THE    FIRST   ACT 

The  interior  of  a  house  in  a  monastic  suburb.  Two 
rooms,  with  a  third  seen  back  of  them.  They  are  old, 
ramshaclde,  and  filthy.  The  first  one  is  a  sort  of 
dining-room,  large,  with  dirty,  low  ceiling  and  smeared 
wall-paper  that  in  places  has  come  loose  from  the  wall. 
There  are  three  little  windows;  the  one  giving  on  the 
yard  reveals  a  shed,  a  wagon,  and  some  household 
utensils.  Cheap  wooden  furniture;  a  large,  bare  table. 
On  the  walls,  which  are  dotted  with  flies,  appear  pic- 
tures of  monks  and  views  of  the  monastery.  The  sec- 
ond room,  a  parlor,  is  somewhat  cleaner.  It  has  win- 
dow curtains  of  muslin,  two  flower-pots  with  dried 
geraniums,  a  sofa,  a  round  table  covered  with  a  table- 
cloth, and  shetoes  with  dishes.  The  door  to  the  left  in 
the  first  room  leads  to  the  tavern.  When  open,  it  ad- 
mits the  sound  of  a  man's  doleful,  monotonous  singing. 

It  is  noon  of  a  hot  and  perfectly  still  summer's  day. 
Now  and  then  the  cluckmg  of  hens  is  heard  under  the 
windows.  The  clock  in  the  belfry  of  the  monastery 
strikes  every  half -hour,  a  long,  indistinct  wheeze  pre- 
ceding the  first  stroke. 

Pelagueya,  who  is  pregnant,  is  scrubbing  the  floor. 
Seized  with  giddiness,  she  staggers  to  her  feet  and  leans 
against  the  wall,  staring  before  her  with  a  vacant  gaze. 


4  SAVVA  [ACT  i 

ri  i  \t.i  i  ^  v 

Oh,  God!     (Shf  starts  to  scrub  the  floor  again) 
\i\-\   (t-ntcrx,  f a'tnt  from  heat) 

How  stifling!     I  don't  know  what  to  do  with  mystlf. 

My  lir.-ul  M-rms  full  of  pins  and  needles.     (She  sits 

doxcn)     Polya,  say,  Polya. 

PELAGUEYA 

What  is  it? 

I.ll'A 

Whi-n-  's  father? 

PELAi.l   1  ^   \ 

II    \s  sleeping. 
LIPA 

Oh,  I  can't  stand  it.  (She  opens  the  window,  then 
takes  a  turn  round  the  room,  moriiuj  uhnlfxsltj  and 
glancing  into  the  tavern)  Tony  's  sleeping  too  — 
behind  the  counter.  It  would  be  nuv  to  ^()  jn  Imth- 
ing,  but  it 's  too  hot  to  walk  to  the  river.  Polya, 
why  don't  you  speak?  Say  something. 

LOVKTA 
What? 

LIPA 

Scrubbing,  scrubbing,  all  the  time. 

II   I.AGUEVA 

Yes. 

LIPA 

And  in  a  day  from  now  the  floors  will  be  dirty  again. 
I  don't  see  what  pleasure  you  get  from  working  the 
way  you  do. 

PELAGI'EYA 

I  have  to. 

LIPA 

I  just  took  a  peep  at  the  street.     It 's  awful.    Not  a 


ACT  i]  SAVVA  5 

human  being  in  sight,  not  even  a  dog.  All  is  dead. 
And  the  monastery  has  such  a  queer  look.  It  seems 
to  be  hanging  in  the  air.  You  have  the  feeling  that 
if  you  were  to  blow  on  it,  it  would  begin  to  swing 
and  fly  away.  Why  are  you  so  silent,  Polya? 
Where  is  Sawa?  Have  you  seen  him? 

PELAGUEYA 

He  's  in  the  pasture  playing  jackstones  with  the 
children. 


He  's  a  funny  fellow. 

PELAGUEYA 

I  don't  see  anything  funny  about  it.     He  ought  to 
be  working,  that  's  what  he  ought  to  be  doing,  not 
playing  like  a  baby.    I  don't  like  your  Savva. 
UFA  (lazily) 

No,  Polya,  he  is  good. 

PELAGUEYA 

Good?     I  spoke  to  him  and  told  him  how  hard  the 
work  was  for  me.     "  Well,"  he  says,  "  if  you  want  to 
be  a  horse,  pull."     What  did  he  come  here  for?     I 
wish  he  'd  stayed  where  he  was. 
LIPA 

He  came  home  to  see  his  folks.  Why,  it  's  ten  years 
since  he  left.  He  was  a  mere  boy  then. 

PELAGUEYA 

A  lot  he  cares  for  his  folks.  Yegor  Ivanovich  is  just 
dying  to  get  rid  of  him.  The  neighbors  don't  know 
what  to  make  of  him  either.  He  dresses  like  a  work- 
ingman  and  carries  himself  like  a  lord,  does  n't  speak 
to  anybody  and  just  rolls  his  eyes  like  a  saint.  I 
am  afraid  of  his  eyes. 


6  SAWA  [ACT  i 

UFA 

v  M.     I  Ir  has  beautiful  eyes. 

PELAGUEYA 

Can't  he  see  that  it  *s  hard  for  me  to  be  doing  nil 
tin-  housework  myself?  A  while  ago  he  saw  me  carry- 
ing a  pail  full  of  water.  I  was  straining  with  all 
my  might.  He  did  n't  even  say  good  morning;  just 
passed  on.  I  have  met  a  lot  of  people  in  my  life,  but 
never  anybody  whom  I  disliked  so  much. 
LIPA 

I  'm  so  hot,  everything  seems  to  be  turning  round 
like  wheels.  Listen,  Polyn,  if  you  don't  want  to 
work,  don't.  No  one  compels  you  to. 

PELAGUK-k  A 

If  I  won't  work,  who  will?    Will  you? 
LIPA 

No,  I  won't.    We  '11  hire  a  servant. 

PELAGUEYA 

Yes,  of  course,  you  have  plenty  of  money. 
UFA 

And  what 's  the  use  of  keeping  it? 

PELAGUEYA 

I  '11  die  soon  and  then  you  '11  get  a  servant.  I  won't 
last  much  longer.  I  have  had  one  miscarriage,  and 
I  guess  a  second  child  will  be  the  end  of  me.  I  don't 
care.  It 's  better  than  to  live  the  way  I  do.  Oh ! 
(She  clasps  her  waist) 
LIPA 

But  for  God's  sake,  who  is  asking  you  to?  Stop 
working.  Don't  scrub. 

PELAGUEYA 

Y«-s,  stop  it,  and  all  of  you  will  be  going  about  say- 
ing: "How  dirty  the  house  is!" 


ACT  i]  SAVVA  7 

UFA  (weary  from  the  heat  and  Pelagueya's  talk) 
Oh,  I  'm  so  tired  of  it ! 

PELAGUEYA 

Don't  you  think  I  feel  tired  too?  What  are  you 
complaining  about  anyhow?  You  are  a  lady.  All  you 
have  to  do  is  pray  and  read.  I  don't  even  get  time 
to  pray.  Some  day  I  '11  drop  into  the  next  world  all 
of  a  sudden  just  as  I  am,  with  my  skirt  tucked  up 
under  my  belt:  "  Good  morning!  How  d'  you  do !  " 
LIPA 

You  '11  be  scrubbing  floors  in  the  next  world  too. 

PELAGUEYA 

No,  in  the  next  world  it  *s  you  who  '11  be  scrubbing 
floors,  and  I  '11  sit  with  folded  hands  like  a  lady.  In 
heaven  we  '11  be  the  first  ones,  while  you  and  your 
Sawa,  for  your  pride  and  your  hard  hearts  — 

LIPA 

Now,  Polya,  am  I  not  sorry  for  you? 

YEGOR  IVANOVICH  TROPiNiN  (enters,  still  sleepy,  his 
beard  turned  to  one  side,  the  collar  of  his  shirt  un- 
buttoned; breathing  heavily)  Whew !  Say,  Polya, 
bring  me  some  cider.  Quick!  (Pause)  Who  opened 
the  window? 

LIPA 
I  did. 

YEGOR 

What  for? 

LIPA 

It 's  hot.     The  stove  in  the  restaurant  makes  it  so 
close  here  you  can't  breathe. 
YEGOE 

Shut  it,  shut  it,  I  say.  If  it 's  too  hot  for  you,  you 
can  go  down  into  the  cellar. 


8  > AN  VA  [ACT  i 

LIRA 

But  what  do  you  want  to  have  tin-  window  .shut  for? 

i  i  «:OE 

Because.  Shut  it!  You  have  IKTM  told  to  slmt  the 
window  —  then  shut  it!  What  an-  you  waiting  for.' 
(Li f>n,  shrtujylng  her  shoulders,  closet  the  wintlow 
tind  is  tifmnt  to  /(•</;•<)  Win  n-  .-in  you  «n>ing?  The 
moment  your  father  appears,  you  run  away.  Sit 
down ! 

LI  PA 

But  you  don't  want  me. 

YEGOE 

Never  mind  whether  I  want  you  or  not  —  sit  down! 

Oh,  my!     (He  yawns  and  crosses  himself)     When- 

is  Savva? 
LIPA 

I  don't  know. 
VKGOR 

Tell  him  I  '11  turn  him  out. 

LI  PA 

Tell  him  so  yourself. 
YEGOE 

Fool!  (He  yawns  and  crosses  himself)  Oh,  Lord 
Jesus  Christ,  have  merry  on  us  sinners!  What  was 
it  I  was  dreaming  about  just  now? 

LIPA 

I  don't  know. 

YEGOE 

Who  asked  you?  You  stupid,  how  could  you  tell 
what  I  was  dreaming?  You  've  got  brains,  have  n't 
you? 

PELAGUEYA  (handiiHj  him  cider) 
There. 


ACT  i]  SAVVA  9 

YEGOE 

There.  Put  it  down  and  don't  "  there  "  me.  (Takes 
the  jug  and  drinks)  What  was  I  talking  about? 
(Pelagueya  finishes  scrubbing  the  floor)  Oh  yes, 
about  the  Father  Superior.  A  smart  fellow  he  is. 
You  '11  have  to  go  a  long  way  to  find  another  like 
him.  He  had  the  old  coffin  exchanged  for  a  new  one. 
The  pilgrims  chewed  the  old  one  to  pieces,  so  he  put 
a  new  one  in  its  place.  He  put  a  new  one  in  place 
of  the  old  one.  They  '11  chew  this  one  to  pieces 
too,  the  fools!  Anything  you  give  them,  the  fools! 
Do  you  hear  or  don't  you? 
UFA 

I  hear.  What 's  so  remarkable  about  it  ?  A  swindle, 
that 's  all. 

YEGOE 

What 's  remarkable  about  it  is  that  he  did  n't  ask 
your  advice.  They  chewed  the  old  one  to  pieces,  so 
he  put  a  new  one  in  its  place  exactly  like  it.  Yes, 
just  exactly  like  the  one  in  which  the  saint  lay  be- 
fore. Remember  us  in  heaven  where  thou  dwellest, 

0  Saint!    (He  crosses  himself  and  yawns)    You  can 
lose  your  teeth  on  this  one  too.    They  chewed  the  old 
one  to  pieces  completely.     Where  are  you  off  to? 
Sit  down! 

IJPA 

1  can't,  it 's  so  hot  in  here. 

YEGOE 

But  I  can.  Sit  down,  you  won't  melt.  (Pause) 
They  chewed  up  the  old  one,  so  he  put  up  a  new  one. 
Where  is  Savva? 

PELAGUEYA 

He's  playing  jackstones  with  the  children. 


10  SAWA  [ACT  i 

^  i  i:OR 

I  'ni  not  asking  you.     \Yhat  time  is  it? 

PELAGUEYA 

It  just  struck  two. 

YEGOR 

Tell  him  I  '11  turn  him  out.     I  won't  stand  it. 
LI  PA 

Stand  what?     Be  reasonable. 

YEGOR 

I  won't  stand  it.  Who  is  he  anyway?  Never  nt 
home  in  time  for  dinner.  He  comes  and  feeds  likr  a 
dog  by  himself  —  knocks  about  at  niijlit  ,-ind  does  n't 
lock  the  gate.  I  went  out  yesterday  and  found  the 
gate  wide  open.  If  we  arc  robbed,  who  '11  pay  for  it? 

LIPA 

There  are  no  thieves  here.  What  thieves  have  you 
ever  seen  in  this  place? 

YEGOR 

What  thieves?  A  lot.  When  all  people  arc  asleep, 
he  is  knocking  about.  Who  ever  heard  of  sueli  i 
thing? 

LI  PA 

But  if  he  doesn't  want  to  sleep,  what  is  he  to  do? 

OR 

What,  you  too?     He  doesn't  want  to?     Let  him  go 
to  bed,  and  he  '11  sleep.     No  one  wants  to  sleep,  hut 
once  you  lie  down  you  fall  asleep.     He  does  n't  want 
to?     I  know  him.     Who  asked   him  to  come?      II. 
waa  making  hank-notes  over  there —  then  why  did  n't 
he  stay  where  he  was  and  do  what  he  pleased?    What 
business  has  he  here? 
LI  PA 

What  bank-notes? 


ACT  i]  SAVVA  11 

YEGOR 

What  bank-notes?  Not  real  ones.  Nothing  is  done 
to  you  for  making  real  bank-notes.  Counterfeit 
bank-notes,  that 's  what.  Not  the  sort  of  thing  you 
get  patted  on  the  head  for,  when  you  are  caught,  no 
sirree !  It 's  very  strict  now.  I  '11  go  to  the  police 
captain  and  tell  him:  "It 's  like  this  —  just  search 
him." 

LIPA 

Oh,  nonsense. 

PELAGUEYA 

You  are  the  only  one  who  does  n't  know  it.     Every- 
body else  knows  it. 
LIPA 

Oh,  Lord ! 

YEGOE 

Well,  about  the  Lord  we  know  better  than  you.  You 
need  n't  appeal  to  Him.  I  want  you  to  tell  Savva 
that  I  am  not  afraid  of  him.  He  did  n't  strike  the 
right  person.  I  '11  just  make  him  skip.  I  '11  turn 
him  out.  Let  him  go  where  he  came  from.  The  idea 
of  my  having  to  be  responsible  for  his  robberies. 
Who  's  ever  heard  of  such  a  thing? 
UPA 

You  are  not  quite  wide  awake,  father,  that 's  what 's 
the  matter  with  you. 

YEGOE 

I  am  wide  awake  all  right,  and  have  been  for  a  long 
time.      What    I  'd    like    to    know    is,    are   you   wide 
awake  ?     Look   out,  Lipa,   don't  let   it  happen   to 
you  too. 
LIPA 
What? 


12  SAWA  [ACT  r 

V  I  UOE 

It.  (He  yawns  and  croste»  himself)  If  mother  wore 
to  HM-  from  lirr  gruvr  nou  and  see  her  children,  sin- 
would  be  delighted.  Fine  children,  she  would  say. 
I  have  nursed  you,  and  brought  you  up,  and  what  's 
tin-  result?  Regular  good-for-nothing  scamps. 
Tony  '11  soon  begin  to  drink  again.  I  can  see  it  on 
his  face.  Who  's  cvi-r  heard  of  such  a  tiling?  !'« •<>- 
plr  will  soon  be  coming  here  for  the  feast-day,  and 
I  '11  have  to  work  alone  for  the  whole  hunch.  1'oly  :. 
hand  nu-  that  match  from  the  floor  —  there.  No,  not 
there,  you  blind  goose.  There,  you  stupid. 
PELAGUEYA  (hunting  for  the  match) 
I  don't  see  it. 

YEGOE 

I  '11  take  you  by  the  back  of  your  neck  and  give  you 
such  a  shaking  that  you  '11  sec  mighty  quick.    There 
it  is,  damn  you! 
i  ir \  (faint) 

Oh,  God,  what  a  blistering  heat! 

YEGOE 

There  it  is.     Where  arc  you  crawling?     Under  the 
chair.     There,  damn  you! 

SAWA  (enters  gayly,  the  pocket  of  hi*  blouse  full  of 
jackstones)     I  won  six  pair. 

YEGOE 

Well,  the  idea ! 

8AVVA 

I  finished  that   rascal   Misha,  cleared  him   all   up. 
What  are  you  mumbling  about  there? 

YEGOE 

thing.     Only  I  wish  you'd  address  me  a  little 
more  politely. 


ACT  i]  SAVVA  13 

SAVVA  (paying  no  attention  to  him) 

Lipa,  I  won  six  pair. 
LIPA 

How  can  you  play  in  such  heat? 
SAVVA 

Wait,  I  am  going  to  put  the  jackstones  away.     I 

have  eighteen  pair  now.      Misha,   the  little   rascal, 

plays  well.      (He  goes  out) 
YEGOR  (rising) 

I  don't  want  to  see  him  any  more.     Tell  him  to  get 

out  of  here  at  once. 

LIPA 

All  right,  I  will. 

YEGOR 

Don't  say  "all  right,"  but  do  what  your  father  tells 
you.  A  fine  lot  of  brats  —  that 's  a  sure  thing ! 
Yes,  yes.  (Goes)  If  mother  saw  them  — 

PELAGUEYA 

He  speaks  of  mother  as  if  he  were  n't  the  one  that 
drove  her  to  an  early  grave.    He  talked  her  to  death, 
the  old  scold !    He  just  talks  and  talks,  and  nags  and 
nags,  and  he  does  n't  know  himself  what  he  wants. 
LIPA 

To  be  with  you  is  like  being  caught  in  the  wheel  of 
a  machine.  My  head  is  spinning  round  and  round. 

PELAGUEYA 

Then  why  don't  you  go  away  with  your  Sawa? 
What  are  you  waiting  for? 

LIPA 

Look  here,  why  are  you  angry  with  me? 

PELAGUEYA 

I  am  not  angry.    I  am  telling  the  truth.    You  don't 


14  SAW  A  [ACT  i 

want    to   marry.       You    are   disjjiisled    uiih    all    your 
ix.     Why  don't  you  go  into  a  convent? 

LI  PA 

I  won't  go  into  a  convent,  hut  I  will  go  away  from 
here,  soon  enough,  I  think. 

PELAGUK1   v 

Well,  go!  No  one  is  keeping  you.  The  road  is  wide 
open. 

LI  PA 

Ah,  Polya,  you  are  angry  and  sulky  with  me.     You 
don't  know  how  I  spend   my   nights   thinking  about 
you.    .At  night  I  lie  awake  and  think  and  think  about 
you,  and  about  all  the  people  that  are  unhappy 
all  of  them. 

PELAGUEYA 

What  do  you  want  to  think  about  me  for?  You  had 
better  think  about  yourself. 

LI  PA 

And  no  one  knows  it.  Well,  what 's  the  use  of  talk- 
ing? You  could  n't  understand  anyhow.  I  am  sorry 
for  you,  Polya.  (Pelagueya  laughs)  What 's  the 
matter? 

PELAGUEYA 

If  you  are  sorry  for  me,  why  don't  you  carry  out 
that  pail?  The  way  I  am,  I  shouldn't  be  liftm-.-- 
heavy  things.  Why  don't  you  help  me,  if  you  are  so 
sorry  for  me? 

UP  A  (her  face  darkening,  then  brightening  <ig<rin) 
Give  it  to  me.     (She  pick»  up  the  pail  and  starts  to 
carry  it  away) 

PELAGUEYA    (gpitcflill I/) 

Hypocrite!  Let  go!  Where  are  you  going?  (She 
carries  out  the  pail  and  returns  for  the  other  things) 


ACT  i]  SAVVA  15 

SAVVA  (entering;    to  his  sister) 

Why  is  your  face  so  red? 
LIPA 

It's  hot. 

\Pelagueya  laughs. 
SAVVA 

Say,  Pelagueya,  has  Kondraty  inquired  for  me? 

PELAGUEYA 

Kondraty !     What  Kondraty  ? 
SAVVA 

Kondraty,    the    friar;    he    looks    something    like    a 
sparrow. 

PELAGUEYA 

I  did  n't  see  any  Kondraty.   Like  a  sparrow !  That 's 
a  funny  way  of  putting  it. 
SAVVA 

Tell  Tony  to  come  here,  won't  you? 

PELAGUEYA 

Tell  him  yourself. 
SAVVA 

Well,  well! 
PELAGUEYA  (calls  through  the  door  before  she  goes  out 

into  the  tavern)     Anthony,  Sawa  wants  you. 
LIPA 

What  do  you  want  him  for? 
SAVVA 

What  a  queer  habit  you  have  here  of  plying  a  person 

with  questions  all  the  time.     Where,  who,  why,  what 

for? 
LIPA  (slightly  offended) 

You  needn't  answer  if  you  don't  want  to. 
TONY  (enters,  speaking  slowly  and  with  difficulty) 

Who  wants  me? 


16  SAWA  [ACT  i 

SAWA 

I    urn   expecting   Kondraty   here  —  you    know   Kon- 
draty,  don't  you?     Send  him  in  win  n  he  comes. 


Who  are  you? 
SAWA 

And  si-nd  in  two  bottles  of  whiskey  too,  do  you  hear? 

M  iylu»  I  do  and  maybe  I  don't.  Maybe  I  Ml  semi 
the  whiskey  and  maybe  I  won't. 

8AVVA 

What  a  sceptic.     You  'vc  grown  silly,  Tony. 

LI  PA 

Leave  him  alone,  Sawa.  He  has  got  that  from  the 
seminary  student,  from  Speransky.  Anyhow,  he  is 
full  of- 

TOXY   (sitting  down) 

I  didn't  get  it  from  anybody.  I  can  understand 
everything  myself.  The  blood  has  congealed  in  my 
heart. 

SAWA 

That  's  from  drink,  Tony.    Stop  drinking. 

TOXY 

The  blood  has  congealed  in  my  heart.  You  think  I 
don't  know  what  's  what.  A  while  ago  you  were  n't 
here  with  us,  and  all  of  a  sudden  you  came.  Yes,  I 
understand  everything.  I  have  visions. 

SAWA 

What  do  you  see?    God? 

TONY 

There  is  no  God. 

8AVVA 

How's  that? 


ACT  i]  SAVVA  17 

TONY 

And  no  devil  either.    There  's  nothing,  no  people,  no 
animals,  nothing. 
SAVVA 

What  is  there  then? 

TONY 

There  are  only  faces,  a  whole  lot  of  faces.  It 's 
faces,  faces,  faces.  They  are  very  funny,  and  I 
keep  laughing  all  the  time.  I  just  sit  still,  and  the 
faces  come  jumping  and  gliding  past  me,  jumping 
and  gliding.  You  've  got  a  very  funny  face  too, 
Sawa.  (Sadly)  It 's  enough  to  make  one  die  of 
laughter. 

SAVVA   (laughing  gayly) 

What  kind  of  a  face  have  I? 

TONY 

That 's  the  kind  of  face  you  have.  (Pointing  his 
finger  at  him)  She  also  has  a  face,  and  she.  And 
father  too.  And  then  there  are  other  faces.  There 
are  a  lot  of  faces.  I  sit  in  the  tavern  and  see 
everything.  Nothing  escapes  me.  You  can't  fool 
me.  Some  faces  are  small  and  some  are  large,  and 
all  of  them  glide  and  glide —  Some  are  far  away, 
and  some  are  as  close  to  me  as  if  they  wanted  to  kiss 
me  or  bite  my  nose.  They  have  teeth. 

SAVVA 

All  right,  Tony,  now  you  can  go.  We  '11  talk  about 
the  faces  later.  Your  own  face  is  funny  enough. 

TONY 

Yes,  of  course.     I,  too,  have  a  face. 
SAVVA 

All  right,  all  right.  Go  now.  Don't  forget  to  send 
in  the  whiskey. 


18  SAWA  [ACT 


A>  in  tin-  daytime  so  at  nitflit.  A  lot  of  faces. 
(Trow  the  door)  And  in  regards  to  whiskey,  ma\l>«- 
I  '11  send  it  and  maybe  I  won't.  I  can't  tell  yet. 

\    (to  Lipa) 

Has  he  been  that  way  a  long  time? 
LIPA 

I  don't  know.     I  think  so.     He  drinks  an  awful  lot. 

M.I  !  <.    (going) 

\<>  wonder.  You  're  enough  to  drive  a  man  to  drink. 
Cranks.  (Exit) 

I.ll'A 

My,  how  stifling!  I  don't  know  what  to  do  with  my- 
self. Say,  Sawa,  why  aren't  you  nicer  to  Polya? 
She  is  such  a  wretched  creature. 

8AVVA 

A  slavish  soul. 
LIPA 

It  is  n't  her  fault  if  she  's  that  way. 
SAVVA  (coldly) 

Nor  mine  either. 
LIPA 

Oh,  Savva,  if  you  only  knew  the  terrible  life  people 

lead  here.    The  men  drink,  and  beat  their  wives,  and 

the  women  — 

8AVVA 

I  know. 

LIPA 

You  say  it  so  calmly.     I  have  been  wanting  very 
much  to  have  a  talk  with  you. 
SAVVA 

Go  ahead. 


ACT  i]  SAVVA  19 

LIPA 

You  '11  soon  be  leaving  us,  I  suppose. 
SAVVA 
Yes. 

LIPA 

Then  I  won't  have  any  chance  to  talk  to  you.  You 
are  scarcely  ever  at  home.  This  is  the  first  time, 
pretty  nearly.  It  seems  so  strange  that  you  should 
enjoy  playing  with  the  children,  you  a  grown  man, 
big  as  a  bear. 

SAVVA  (merrily} 

No,  Lipa,  they  play  very  well.  Misha  is  very  good 
at  the  game,  and  I  have  a  hard  time  holding  up  my 
end  of  it.  I  lost  him  three  pairs  yesterday. 

LIPA 

Why,  he  is  only  ten  years  old. 

SAVVA 

Well,  what  of  it?  The  children  are  the  only  human 
beings  here.  They  are  the  wisest  part  of  the  — 

LIPA  (with  a  smile) 

And  I?     How  about  me? 

SAVVA  (looking  at  her) 

You?     Why,  you  are  like  the  rest. 
[A  pause.     Being  offended,  Lipa's  languor  disap- 
pears to  some  extent. 

LIPA 

Maybe  I  bore  you. 

SAVVA 

No,  you  make  no  difference  to  me  one  way  or  an- 
other. I  am  never  bored. 

LIPA  (with  a  constrained  smile) 

Thank  you,  I  am  glad  of  that  at  least.     Were  you 


30  SAWA  [ACT  i 

in  tin-  monastery  to-d.i_\  .-  You  go  there  often,  don't 
\ou? 

SAW  A 

Yes,  I  was  there.     Why? 

LIPA 

I  suppose  you  don't  remember —    I  love  our  mona-.- 
tery.     It  is  so  beautiful.     At  times  it  looks  so  pen 
sive.     I  like  it  because  it's  so  old.     Its  age  givo  it 
a  solemnity,  a  stern  serenity  and  detachment. 

SAWA 

Do  you  read  many  books? 

LIPA    (blushing) 

I  used  to  read  a  lot.  You  know  I  spent  four  win- 
ters in  Moscow  with  Aunt  Glasha.  Why  do  you  ask? 

SAWA 

Never  mind.     Go  on. 

1. 1  PA 

Does  what  I  say  sound  ridiculous? 

SAWA 

No,  go  on. 
LIPA 

The  monastery  is  really  a  remarkable  place.  There 
arc  nice  spots  there  which  no  one  ever  visits,  some- 
where between  the  mute  walls,  where  there  is  nothing 
but  grass  and  fallen  stones  and  a  lot  of  old,  old  litter. 
I  love  to  linger  there,  especially  at  twilight,  or  on 
hot  sunny  days  like  to-day.  I  close  my  eyes,  and  I 
seem  to  look  far,  far  into  the  distant  past  —  at 
those  who  built  it  and  those  who  first  prayed  in  it. 
There  they  walk  along  the  path  carrying  bricks  and 
singing  something,  so  softly,  so  far  away.  (Cloxnit/ 
her  eyes)  So  softly,  so  softly. 


ACT  i]  SAVVA  21 

SAVVA 

I  don't  like  the  old.  As  to  the  building  of  the  mon- 
astery, it  was  done  by  serfs,  of  course;  and  when 
they  carried  bricks  they  did  n't  sing,  but  quarrelled 
and  cursed  one  another.  That 's  more  like  it. 

UFA  (opening  her  eyes) 

Those  are  my  dreams.  You  see,  Savva,  I  am  all 
alone  here.  I  have  nobody  to  talk  to.  Tell  me  — 
You  won't  be  angry,  will  you?  —  Tell  me,  just  me 
alone,  why  did  you  come  here  to  us  ?  It  was  n't  to 
pray.  It  was  n't  for  the  feast-day.  You  don't  look 
like  a  pilgrim. 

SAVVA  (frowning) 

I  don't  like  you  to  be  so  curious. 

IJPA 

How  can  you  think  I  am?  Do  I  look  as  if  I  were 
curious?  You  have  been  here  for  two  weeks,  and 
you  ought  to  see  that  I  am  lonely.  I  am  lonely, 
Savva.  Your  coming  was  to  me  like  manna  fallen 
from  the  sky.  You  are  the  first  living  human  being 
that  has  come  here  from  over  there,  from  real  life. 
In  Moscow  I  lived  very  quietly,  just  reading  my 
books ;  and  here  —  you  see  the  sort  of  people  we 
have  here. 

SAVVA 

Do  you  think  it 's  different  in  other  places? 

LIPA 

I  don't  know.  That 's  what  I  should  like  to  find  out 
from  you.  You  have  seen  so  much.  You  have  even 
been  abroad. 

SAVVA 

Only  for  a  short  time. 


22  SAVVA  [ACT  i 

i  ir\ 

Th  it  makes  no  difference.  You  have  met  many  cul- 
tured, wise,  interesting  people.  You  have  lived  with 
thrill.  How  do  they  live?  What  kind  of  people 
are  they?  Tell  me  all  about  it. 

8AVVA 

A  mean,  contempt ihle  lot. 

LI  PA 

la  that  so?    You  don't  say  so! 

SAVVA 

They  live  just  as  you  do  here  —  a  stupid,  senseless 
existence.  The  only  difference  is  in  the  language 
they  speak.  But  that  makes  it  still  worse.  The 
justification  for  cattle  is  that  they  are  without 
speech.  But  when  the  cattle  become  articulate,  1. 
to  speak,  defend  themselves  and  express  ideas,  then 
the  situation  becomes  intolerable,  unmitii^atedly  re- 
pulsive. Their  dwelling-places  are  different  too  — 
yes  —  but  that's  a  small  thing.  I  was  in  a  city 
inhabited  by  a  hundred  thousand  people.  The  win- 
dows in  the  house  of  that  city  are  all  small.  Those 
living  in  them  are  all  fond  of  light,  but  it  never 
occurs  to  anyone  that  the  windows  might  be  made 
larger.  And  when  a  new  house  is  built,  they  put 
in  the  same  kind  of  windows,  just  as  small,  just  as 
they  have  always  been. 
LIPA 

The  idea!  I  never  would  have  thought  it.  But  they 
can't  all  be  like  that.  You  must  have  met  good  peo- 
ple who  knew  how  to  live. 

8AVVA 

I  don't  know  how  to  make  you  understand.  Yes,  I 
did  meet,  if  not  altogether  good  people,  yet  — 


ACT  i]  SAVVA  23 

The  last  people  with  whom  I  lived  were  a  pretty  good 
sort.  They  did  n't  accept  life  ready-made,  but  tried 
to  make  it  over  to  suit  themselves.  But  — 

LIPA 

Who  were  they  —  students  ? 

SAVVA 

No.  Look  here  —  how  about  your  tongue  —  is  it  of 
the  loose  kind? 

LIPA 

Sawa,  you  ought  to  be  ashamed! 

SAVVA 

All  right.  Now  then.  You  've  read  of  people  who 
make  bombs  —  little  bombs,  you  understand?  Now 
if  they  see  anybody  who  interferes  with  life,  they 
take  him  off.  They 're  called  anarchists.  But  that 
isn't  quite  correct.  (Contemptuously}  Nice  an- 
archists they  are! 

LIPA  (starting  back,  awestruck) 

What  are  you  talking  about?  You  can't  possibly 
be  in  earnest.  It  isn't  true.  And  you  in  it,  too? 
Why,  you  look  so  simple  and  talk  so  simply,  and 
suddenly  —  I  was  hot  a  moment  ago,  but  now  I  am 
cold.  (The  rooster  crows  under  the  window,  calling 
the  chickens  to  share  some  seed  he  has  found) 

SAVVA 

There  now  —  you  're  frightened.  First  you  want 
me  to  tell  you,  and  then  — 

LIPA 

Don't  mind  me,  Sawa,  it 's  nothing.  It  was  so 
unexpected.  I  thought  such  people  did  n't  really 
exist  —  that  they  were  just  a  fiction  of  the  imagina- 
tion. And  then,  all  of  a  sudden,  to  find  you,  my 


24  SAV\  A  [AC-,    i 

In-other —  You  art-  not  joking,  Savva?  Look  me 
straight  in  the  • 

8AVVA 

But  why  did  you  get  frightened?  They  arc  not  so 
terrible  aftrr  all.  In  fact,  they  are  very  quiet, 
orderly  people,  and  very  deliberate.  They  unit  and 
meet,  and  weigh  and  consider  a  long  time,  and  then 
—  bang!  —  a  sparrow  drops  dead.  The  next  min- 
ute there  is  another  sparrow  in  its  place,  hopping 
about  on  the  very  same  branch.  Why  are  you  look- 
ing at  my  hands? 

LI  PA 

Oh,  nothing.  Give  me  your  hand  —  no,  your  right 
hand. 

SAVVA 
Here. 

LI  PA 

How  heavy  it  is.  Feel  how  cold  mine  are.  Go  on, 
tell  me  all  about  it.  It's  so  interesting. 

SAVVA 

What 's  there  to  tell  ?  They  are  a  brave  set  of  peo- 
ple, I  must  admit;  but  it  is  a  bravery  of  the  li 
not  of  the  hands.  And  their  heads  are  partitioned 
off  into  little  chambers;  they  are  always  careful 
not  to  do  anything  which  is  unnecessary  or  harm- 
ful. Now  you  can't  clear  a  dense  forest  by  cutting 
down  one  tree  at  a  time,  can  you?  That's  what 
they  do.  While  they  chop  at  one  end,  it  grows  up 
at  the  other.  You  can't  accomplish  anything  tint 
way;  it's  labor  lost.  I  proposed  a  scheme  to  them, 
something  on  a  larger  scale.  They  <n>t  frightened, 
wouldn't  hear  of  it.  A  little  weak-kneed  they  are. 


ACT  i]  SAVVA  25 

So  I  left  them.  Let  them  practise  virtue.  A  narrow- 
minded  bunch.  They  lack  breadth  of  vision. 

LIPA 

You  say  it  as  calmly  as  if  you  were  joking. 

SAVVA 

No,  I  am  not  joking. 

UFA 

Aren't  you  afraid? 

SAVVA 

I  ?  So  far  I  have  n't  been,  and  I  don't  ever  expect 
to  be.  What  worse  can  happen  to  a  man  than  to 
have  been  born?  It 's  like  asking  a  man  who  is 
drowning  whether  he  is  not  afraid  of  getting  wet. 
{Laughs) 

LIPA 

So  that 's  the  kind  you  are.  « 

SAVVA 

One  thing  I  learned  from  them:  respect  for  dyna- 
mite. It 's  a  powerful  instrument,  dynamite  is  — 
nothing  like  it  for  a  convincing  argument. 

LIPA 

You  are  only  twenty-three  years  old.  You  have  no 
beard  yet,  not  even  a  moustache. 

SAVVA  (feeling  his  face) 

Yes,  a  measly  growth;  but  what  conclusions  do  you 
draw  from  that? 

LIPA 

Fear  will  come  to  you  yet. 
SAVVA 

No.  If  I  have  n't  been  frightened  so  far  by  watch- 
ing life,  there  's  nothing  else  to  fear.  Life,  yes.  I 
embrace  the  earth  with  my  eyes,  the  whole  of  it,  the 


26  SAN  \    \  [A< 

entire  little  planetoid,  and   I   can   find   nothing  more 
terrible  on  it  than  man  and  liinnan  life.      And  I  am 
not  afraid  of  man. 
LIPA  (scarcely  listening  to  him;  ecstatic  nil  a) 

Yes,  that 's  the  word.  That 's  it.  Savva,  dear,  I 
am  not  afraid  of  bodily  suffering  either.  Burn  me 
on  a  slow  fire.  Cut  me  to  pieces.  I  won't  cry.  I  '11 
laugh.  I  know  I  will.  But  there  is  another  thing 
I  am  afraid  of.  I  am  afraid  of  people's  suffering,  of 
the  misery  from  which  they  cannot  escape.  When 
in  the  stillness  of  the  night,  broken  only  by  the 
striking  of  the  hours,  I  think  of  how  much  suffer- 
ing there  is  all  around  us  —  aimh->.  needless  suf- 
fering; suffering  one  doesn't  even  know  of  —  when 
I  think  of  that,  I  am  chilled  with  terror.  I  go  down 
on  my  knees  and  pray.  I  pray  to  God,  saying  to 
Him:  "Oh,  Lord,  if  there  has  to  be  a  victim,  t.<k. 
me,  but  give  the  people  joy,  give  them  peace,  give 
them  forgetfulness.  Oh,  Lord,  all  powerful  as  Thou 
art—" 

8AVVA 

Yes. 
LIPA 

I  have  read  about  a  man  who  was  eaten  by  an  eagle, 
and  his  flesh  grew  again  overnight.  If  my  I) 
could  turn  into  bread  and  joy  for  the  people,  I 
would  consent  to  live  in  eternal  torture  in  order  t-> 
feed  the  unfortunate.  There  '11  soon  be  a  holiday 
here  in  the  monastery  — 

SAVVA 

I  know. 

LIPA 

There  is  an  ikon  of  the  Saviour  there  with  the  touch- 


ACT  i]  SAVVA  27 

ing  inscription :  "  Come  unto  me,  all  ye  that  labour 
and  are  heavy  laden  — 

SAVVA 

And  I  will  give  you  rest."     I  know. 

LIPA 

It  is  regarded  as  a  wonder-working  ikon.  Go  there 
on  the  feast-day.  It 's  like  a  torrent  pouring  into 
the  monastery,  an  ocean  rolling  toward  its  walls; 
and  this  whole  ocean  is  made  up  entirely  of  human 
tears,  of  human  sorrow  and  misery.  Such  monstros- 
ities, such  cripples.  After  witnessing  one  of  those 
scenes,  I  walk  about  as  in  a  dream.  There  are  faces 
with  such  a  depth  of  misery  in  them  that  one  can 
never  forget  them  as  long  as  one  lives.  Why,  Sawa, 
I  was  a  gay  young  thing  before  I  saw  all  that. 
There  is  one  man  who  comes  here  every  year  — 
they  have  nicknamed  him  King  Herod  — 

SAVVA 

He  is  here  already.     I  've  seen  him. 

LIPA 

Have  you? 

SAVVA 

Yes,  he  has  got  a  tragic  face. 

LIPA 

Long  ago,  when  still  a  young  man,  he  killed  his  son 
by  accident,  and  from  that  day  he  keeps  coming  here. 
He  has  an  awful  face.  And  all  of  them  are  waiting 
for  a  miracle. 

SAVVA 

Yes.      There  is   something  worse  than   inescapable 
human  suffering,  however. 
IJPA 
What? 


28  S.U  \  A  [ACT  i 


SAW  A 

Inescapable*  liuiuan  >tii|Milit\. 

1  Il-A 

I  don't  know. 

8AVVA 

I  do.  Here  you  see  only  a  small  fragment  of  life, 
but  if  you  could  see  and  hear  all  of  it—  Wlicu  I 
first  read  thrir  newspapers,  I  laughed  and  thought 
it  was  a  joke.  I  thought  they  were*  published  in 
some  asylum  for  tin-  insane.  But  I  found  it  WHS  no 
joke-.  It  was  really  serious,  Lipa,  really  serious. 
And  then  my  head  began  to  ache  with  an  intolerable 
pain.  (He  presteg  his  hand  to  hit  forehead) 
LIPA 

Your  head  began  to  ache? 

8AVVA 

Yes.    It  Js  a  peculiar  pain.    You  don't  know  what  it 
is  like.     Few  people  know  what  it  is.     And  the  pain 
continued  until  I  resolved  — 
LIPA 
What? 

BAVVA 

To  annihilate  everything. 
LIPA 

What  are  you  saying? 

8AVVA 

Yes,  yes,  everything.     All  that  *s  old. 
LIPA  (in  amazement) 
And  man? 

SAWA 

Man  is  to  remain,  of  course.  What  is  in  his  way 
is  the  stupidity  that,  piling  up  for  thousands  of 
years,  has  grown  into  a  mountain.  The  modern 


ACT  i]  SAVVA  29 

sages  want  to  build  on  this  mountain,  but  that,  of 
course,  will  lead  to  nothing  but  making  the  mountain 
still  higher.  It  is  the  mountain  itself  that  must  be 
removed.  It  must  be  levelled  to  its  foundation,  down 
to  the  bare  earth.  Do  you  understand? 

LIPA 

No,  I  don't  understand  you.   You  talk  so  strangely. 
SAVVA 

Annihilate  everything!  The  old  houses,  the  old 
cities,  the  old  literature,  the  old  art.  Do  you  know 
what  art  is? 

LIPA 

Yes,  of  course  I  know  —  pictures,  statues.  I  went 
to  the  Tretyakov  art  gallery. 

SAVVA 

That 's  it  —  the  Tretyakov,  and  other  galleries  that 
are  bigger  still.  There  are  some  good  things  in  them, 
but  it  will  be  still  better  to  have  the  old  stuff  out  of 
the  way.  All  the  old  dress  must  go.  Man  must  be 
stripped  bare  and  left  naked  on  a  naked  earth ! 
Then  he  will  build  up  a  new  life.  The  earth  must  be 
denuded,  Lipa;  it  must  be  stripped  of  its  hideous 
old  rags.  It  deserves  to  be  arrayed  in  a  king's 
mantle;  but  what  have  they  done  with  it?  They 
have  dressed  it  in  coarse  fustian,  in  convict  clothes. 
They  've  built  cities,  the  idiots ! 

LIPA 

But  who  will  do  it?  Who  's  going  to  destroy  every- 
thing? 

SAVVA 
I. 

LIPA 

You? 


80  SAV\  \  [ACT  i 

8AVVA 

Yes,  I.  I  Ml  Infill,  and  then,  when  people  got  to 
linder>tand  what  I  am  after,  othrrs  will  join  in.  The 
\un-k  will  proceed  merrily,  Lipa.  The  >ky  will  be 
hot.  Vrs.  Tin*  only  thing  not  worth  dot  roving  is 
science.  That  would  be  useless.  Science  is  un- 
changeable, and  if  you  destroyed  it  to-day,  it  would 
rise  up  again  the  same  as  before. 

LI  PA 

How  much  blood  will  have  to  be  shed  ?  Why,  it 's 
horrible ! 

SAVVA 

No  more  than  has  been  shed  already  —  and  there  '11 
be  rhyme  and  reason  to  it,  at  least.  (I'ansc;  tin- 
hens  cluck  in  the  yard;  from  the  same  direction 
comes  Tony's  sleepy  voice:  "  Poly  a,  father  wants 
you.  Where  did  you  put  his  cap?  ") 

LIPA 

What  a  scheme!    Are  you  not  joking,  Savva? 

SAVVA 

You  make  me  sick  with  your  "  you  are  joking,  you 
are  joking." 

IJPA 

I  am  afraid  of  you,  Sawa.  You  are  so  serious 
about  it. 

SAVVA 

Yes,  there  are  many  people  who  are  afraid  of  me. 

IJPA 

If  you  would  only  smile  a  little. 

SAVVA  (look'unj  at  her  icitli  wide-open  eyes  and  a  frank- 
face,  and  breaking  ahr/i  jifl//  into  <i  clear,  ringing 
laugh)  Oh,  you  funny  girl,  what  should  I  be  smiling 


ACT  i]  SAVVA  31 

for?     I  'd  rather  laugh.      (Both  laugh)      Are  you 

afraid  of  tickling? 
LIPA 

Stop  it!     What  a  boy  you  are  still! 
SAVVA 

All  right.     And  Kondraty  is  n't  here  yet.     I  wonder 

why.     Do  you  think  the  devil  has  taken  him?     The 

devil  is  fond  of  monks,  you  know. 
LIPA 

What  strange   fancies   you  have.     Why,  now   you 

are  j  oking  — 
SAVVA  (somewhat  surprised) 

They  are  not  fancies. 

LIPA 

My  fancies  are  different.     You  are  a  dear  now,  be- 
cause you  talk  to  me.     In  the  evening  I  '11  tell  you 
all  about  myself.     We  '11  take  a  walk  together,  and 
I  '11  tell  you  everything. 
SAVVA 

Very  well,  I  '11  listen.     Why  should  n't  I? 

LIPA 

Tell  me,  Savva,  if  I  may  ask  —  are  you  in  love  with 

a  woman? 
SAVVA 

Ah,  switched  around  to  the  subject  of  love  after  all 
-just  like  a  woman!     I  hardly  know  what  to  say. 

I  did  love  a  girl,  in  a  way,  but  she  did  n't  stick  it  out. 
LIPA 

Stick  out  what? 
SAVVA 

My  love,  or  perhaps  myself.    All  I  know  is  that  one 

fine  day  she  went  away  and  left  me. 


82  SAWA  [ACT  i 

LIP  A   (laughing) 
And  you? 

8AVVA 

Nothing.     I  remained  alone. 
UFA 

Have  you  any  friends,  comrades? 

SAWA 

No. 

UFA 

Any  enemies?     I  mean  is  there  anyone  whom  you 
particularly  dislike,  whom  you  hate? 

8AVVA 

Yes  —  God. 
LIPA  (incredulously) 
What? 

8AVVA 

God,  I  say  —  the  one  whom  you  call  your  Saviour. 
LIPA  (shouting) 

Don't  dare  speak  that  way !     You  've  gone  out  of 

your  mind! 
SAVVA 

Ah !    I  touched  your  sensitive  spot,  did  I? 
LIPA 

Don't  you  dare! 
SAVVA 

I  thought  you  were  a  gentle  dove,  but  you  have  a 

tongue  like  a  snake's.     (He  imitates  the  movements 

of  a  snake's  tongue  with  his  finger) 
LIPA 

Good  Lord !    How  dare  you,  how  can  you  speak  like 

that  of  the  Saviour?     Why,  one  dares  not  look  at 

him.     Why  have  you  come  here? 


ACT  i]  SAVVA  33 

\Kondraty  appears  at  the  door  of  the  tavern,  looks 
around,  and  enters  quietly. 

KONDRATY 

In  the  name  of  the  Father,  the  Son,  and  the  Holy 
Ghost ! 

SAVVA 

Amen !     You  're  very  late,  my  gracious  lord ! 

KONDRATY 

I  did  the  will  of  him  who  sent  me.  I  was  picking 
young  little  cucumbers  for  the  Father  Superior.  He 
has  them  made  into  a  dainty  dish  which  he  loves 
dearly  for  an  appetizer.  My,  what  infernal  heat! 
I  was  in  pools  of  perspiration  before  I  got  through. 
SAVVA  (to  Lipa) 

You  see,  here  is  a  monk.  He  likes  a  drink.  His 
cussing  vocabulary  is  n't  bad.  He  is  no  fool,  and  as 
to  women  — 

KONDRATY 

Don't  embarrass  the  young  lady,  Mr.  Tropinin.    In 
the  presence  of  a  lady  — 
SAVVA 

And  furthermore,  he  does  n't  believe  in  God. 

KONDRATY 

He  is  joking. 

LIPA 

I  don't  like  such  jokes.  What  have  you  come  here 
for? 

KONDRATY 

I  am  here  by  invitation. 
SAVVA 

I  have  some  business  with  him. 
LIPA  (without  looking  at  Sawa) 

What  have  you  come  here  for? 


84  SAVVA  [A<  i    . 

>\\  VA 

For  nothing  that  concerns  you.  You  had  better 
have  a  talk  with  him.  He  is  a  chap  that  possesses 
a  great  deal  of  curiosity.  He's  not  a  fool,  either, 
but  knows  what 's  what. 

LIPA  (looking  seurchlngly  at  Savi'd) 

I  know  him  well,  I  know  him  very  well. 

KONDRATY 

To  my  regret  I  must  admit  it 's  true.  I  have  the 
unenviable  fortune  of  being  known  as  a  man  who 
does  not  observe  the  outer  forms  of  conduct.  It  is 
on  account  of  that  characterise  I  was  fired  from 
my  position  as  government  clerk,  and  it 's  on  that 
account  I  am  now  frequently  condemned  to  live  for 
weeks  on  nothing  but  bread  and  water.  I  cannot  act 
in  secret.  I  am  open  and  above-board.  In  fact, 
I  fairly  cry  aloud  whatever  I  do.  For  example,  the 
circumstances  under  which  I  met  you,  Mr.  Tropinin, 
are  such  that  I  am  ashamed  to  recall  them. 

8AVVA 

Don't  recall  them  then. 
KONDRATY  (to  Li  pa) 

I  was  lying  in  a  mud  puddle  in  all  my  dignity,  like 

a  regular  hog. 
T.ii-A  (disgusted) 

All  right. 

KONDRATY 

But  I  am  not  ashamed  to  speak  of  it;    first,  because 
many  people  saw  it,  and  of  course  nobody  took  the 
trouble  to  get  me  out  of  it  except  Sawa  Yegorovich, 
and  secondly,  because  I  regard  this  as  my  cross. 
LIPA 

A  fine  cross ! 


ACT  i]  SAVVA  35 

KONDRATY 

Every  man,  Miss  Olympiada,  has  his  cross.  It  is  n't 
so  very  nice  to  be  lying  in  a  mud  puddle.  Dry 
ground  is  pleasanter  every  time.  And  do  you  know, 
I  think  half  of  the  water  in  that  puddle  was  my  own 
tears,  and  my  woeful  lamentations  made  ripples  on 
it  — 

SAVVA 

That 's  not  quite  so,  Kondraty.  You  were  singing 
a  song:  "  And  we  're  baptized  of  him  in  Jordan  "  — 
to  a  very  jolly  tune  at  that. 

KONDRATY 

You  don't  say!     What  of  it?     So  much  the  worse. 
It  shows  to  what  depths  a  man  will  descend. 
SAVVA 

Don't  assume  a  melancholy  air,  father.  You  're 
quite  a  jovial  fellow  by  nature,  and  the  assumption 
of  grief  does  n't  go  well  with  your  face,  I  assure  you. 

KONDRATY 

True,  Savva  Yegorovich,  I  was  a  jolly  fellow;  but 
that  was  before  I  entered  the  monastery.  As  soon 
as  I  came  here  I  took  a  tumble,  so  to  speak;  I  lost 
my  joviality  and  serenity  and  learned  to  know  what 
real  sorrow  is. 

[Tony  enters  and  remains  standing  m  the  doorway 
gazing  ecstatically  at  the  monk. 

SAVVA 
Why  so? 

KONDRATY  (stepping  nearer  and  speaking  in  a  lowered 
voice)  There  is  no  God  here  —  there  's  only  the 
devil.  This  is  a  terrible  place  to  live  in,  on  my  word 
it  is,  Mr.  Savva.  I  am  a  man  with  a  large  experience. 


U6  SAVVA  [ACT  i 

It  's  no  easy  thing  to  frighten  nu-.  But  I  am  afruiil 
to  walk  in  the  hull  tit  night. 

8AVVA 

What    devil? 
K 0 XORATY 

The  ordinary  one.  To  you,  educated  people,  he 
appears  in  a  nobler  aspect  of  course;  but  to  us 
plain,  .simple  people,  he  reveals  himself  as  he  really  is. 

-  \  v  V  A 

With  horns.1 

KONDRATY 

How  can  I  tell  ?  I  never  saw  the  horns ;  but  that 's 
not  the  point,  although  I  may  say  that  his  shadow 
clearly  shows  the  horns.  The  thing  is  that  we  have 
no  peace  in  our  monastery;  there  is  always  such  a 
noise  and  clatter  there.  Everything  is  quiet  out- 
side; but  inside  there  are  groans  and  gnashing  of 
teeth.  Some  groan,  some  whine,  and  some  complain 
about  something,  you  can't  tell  what.  \Vh»  n  you 
pass  the  doors,  you  feel  as  if  your  soul  were  taking 
leave  of  the  world  behind  every  door.  Suddenly 
something  glides  from  around  the  corner  —  and 
there's  a  shadow  on  the  wall.  Nothing  at  all  - 
and  vrt  there's  a  shadow  on  the  wall.  In  other 
places  it  makes  no  difference.  You  pay  no  attention 
to  such  a  trifle  as  a  shadow ;  but  here,  Sawa  Yegoro- 
vich,  they  are  alive,  and  you  can  almost  hear  them 
speak.  On  my  word  of  honor !  Our  hall,  you  know, 
is  so  long  that  it  seems  never  to  end.  You  enter  — 
nothing!  You  see  a  sort  of  black  object  moving  in 
front  of  you,  something  like  the  figure  of  a  man. 
Then  it  stretches  out,  grows  larger  and  larger  and 


ACT  i]  SAVVA  37 

wider  and  wider  until  it  reaches  across  the  ceiling, 
and  then  it 's  behind  you !  You  keep  on  walking. 
Your  senses  become  paralyzed.  You  lose  all  con- 
sciousness. 

SAVVA  (to  Tony) 

What  are  you  staring  at? 

TONY 

What  a  face ! 

KONDRATY 

And  God  too  is  impotent  here.     Of  course  we  have 
sacred   relics   and   a  wonder-working  ikon;    but,   if 
you  '11  excuse  me  for  saying  so,  they  have  no  efficacy. 
LIPA 

What  are  you  saying? 

KONDRATY 

None  whatever.  If  you  don't  believe  me,  ask  the 
other  monks.  They  '11  bear  me  out.  We  pray  and 
pray,  and  beat  our  foreheads,  and  the  result  is 
nothing,  absolutely  nothing.  If  the  image  did 
nothing  else  than  drive  away  the  impure  power! 
But  it  can't  do  even  that.  It  hangs  there  as  if  it 
were  none  of  its  business,  and  as  soon  as  night  comes, 
the  stir  and  the  gliding  and  the  flitting  around  the 
corners  begin  again.  The  abbot  says  we  are  cowards, 
poor  in  spirit,  and  that  we  ought  to  be  ashamed. 
But  why  are  the  images  ineffective?  The  monks  in 
the  monastery  say  — 
LIPA 
Well? 

KONDRATY 

But  it 's  hard  to  believe  it.  It 's  impossible.  They 
say  that  the  devil  stole  the  real  image  long  ago  — 


38  S.\\  \  \  [ACT  i 

tlu-  1)111-  that  could  perform  miracles- — and  hun«j  n;i 
liis  own  picture  in^t> 
i  ir\ 

Oh,  God,  what  blasplu  inv  !  Why  arc  n't  you  ashamed 
to  believe  Mich  vile,  horrid  stuff?  You  who  are 
wearing  a  monk's  robe  ;it  that  !  You  really  ought 
to  be  lying  in  a  puddle  —  it's  the  proper  place  for 
you. 

8AVVA 

Now,  now,  don't  get  mad.     Don't  mind  her,  Father 
Kondraty,  she  does  n't  mean  it.     She  is  a  good  girl. 
But    really,    why    don't   you    leave    the    monast* 
Why  do  you   want   to  be   fooling  about   here  with 
shadows  and  devils? 

KONDRATY   (shrugging  his  shoulders) 

I  would  like  to  leave;  but  where  am  I  to  go?  I 
dropped  work  long  ago.  I  am  not  used  to  it  any 
more.  Here  at  least  I  don't  have  to  worry  about 
how  to  get  a  piece  of  bread.  And  as  for  the  devil 
(cautiously  winking  to  Sawa  as  he  turns  in  the 
window  and  fillips  his  neck  with  his  fingers)  I  have 
a  means  against  him. 

SAVVA 

Well,  let 's  go  out  and  have  a  talk.  You,  face,  will 
you  send  us  some  whiskey? 

TOXY  (gloomily) 

He  is  n't  telling  the  truth.  There  are  no  devils  either. 
The  devil  couldn't  have  hung  up  his  picture  if 
there  's  no  devil.  It 's  impossible.  He  had  better 
ask  me. 

SAVVA 

All  right,  we  '11  speak  about  that  later.  Send  us 
whiskey. 


ACT  i]  SAVVA  39 

TONY  (goes) 

I  won't  send  you  any  whiskey  either. 
SAVVA 

What   a   stupid    fellow!      I   tell   you   what,   father. 

You  go  out  into  the  garden  through  that  door.     I  '11 

be   with    you    in    a    moment.     Don't    lose    yourself. 

(He  goes  out  after  Tony) 

KONDRATY 

Good-bye,  Miss  Olympiada. 

[Lipa  does  n't  answer.     When   Kondraty   has   left, 

she  walks  around  the  room  a  'few  times,  agitated, 

waiting  for  Sawa. 
SAVVA  (entering) 

Well,  what  a  fool! 
UPA   (barring  his  way) 

I  know  why  you  came  here.     I  know!     Don't  you 

dare! 
SAVVA 

What's   that? 

UPA 

When  I  heard  you  talk,  I  thought  it  was  just  words, 
but  now —    Come  to  your  senses !    Think !     You  've 
gone  crazy.     What  do  you  mean  to  do? 
SAVVA 

Let  me  go. 

LIPA 

I  listened  to  you  and  laughed!  Good  Lord!  I  feel 
as  if  I  had  awakened  from  a  terrible  dream.  Or  is 
it  all  a  dream?  What  was  the  monk  here  for?  What 
for? 

SAVVA 

Now  that  will  do.  You  have  had  your  say ;  that 's 
enough.  Let  me  go. 


40  SAVVA  [ACT  i 

LIP  A 

Don't  you  sec  you  have  gone  cra/v?     Do  von  under- 
stand?   You  are  out  of  your  mind. 
SAVVA 

I  'in  sick  of  hearing  you  repeat  that.     Li-t  go.x 

UFA 

Savva;  dear,  darling  Sawa  —  No?  Very  well,  you 
won't  listen  to  inr?  Y< TV  well.  You'll  sec,  Savva, 
you  '11  see.  You  ought  to  have  your  hands  and 
feet  tied.  And  you  will  be  bound,  too.  There  arc 
people  who  will  do  it.  Oh,  God!  What  does  this 
mean?  Stay!  Stay!  Savva! 

SAVVA  (going) 

All  right,  all  right. 

IJPA   (shouting) 

I  '11  denounce  you.  Murderer !  Ruffian  !  I  '11  de- 
nounce you. 

SAVVA   (turning  round) 

Oho!  You  had  better  be  more  careful.  (Puts  his 
hand  on  her  shoulder  and  looks  into  her  eyes)  You 
had  better  be  more  careful,  I  say. 

UPA 

You  —  (For  about  three  seconds  there  is  a  struggle 
between  the  two  pairs  of  eyes,  after  -cliich  L'tjxi  turns 
aside,  biting  her  lips)  I  am  not  afraid  of  you. 

SAVVA 

That 's  better.  But  don't  shout.  One  should  never 
shout.  (Exit) 

I.IPA  (alone) 

What  does  this  mean?  What  am  I  to  do?  (The 
hens  chick) 

YECOK    TKOIMNIN    (in    tllC  (I nor) 

What's  the  matter?     What's  the  row  here  —  hey? 


ACT  i]  SAVVA  41 

I  was  gone  just  half  an  hour,  and  everything  has 
gone  topsy-turvy.  Lipa,  why  did  you  let  the  chick- 
ens get  into  the  raspberry  bushes?  Go  and  drive 
'em  away,  damn  you !  I  am  talking  to  you  —  yes,  to 
you !  Go,  or  I  '11  go  you,  I  '11  go  you,  I  '11  — 

CUETAIN 


THE    SECOND   ACT 

Within  the  enclosure  of  tlie  monastery.  In  the  rear, 
at  the  left,  appear  tin-  monastery  buildings,  the  re- 
fectory, monks1  cells,  parts  of  the  church  ami  the 
steeple,  all  connected  by  passageways  with  arched 
gates.  Board-walks  run  In  di/lerent  directions  in  flu- 
court.  At  the  right  the  corner  of  the  steeple  wall  is 
seen  slightly  jutting  out.  Nestling  against  it  is  a  small 
monastic  cemetery  surrounded  by  a  light,  grilled  iron 
fence.  Marble  monuments  and  slabs  of  stone  and  iron 
are  sunk  deep  into  the  earth.  All  are  old  and  twisted. 
It  is  a  long  time  since  anyone  was  buried  there.  The 
cemetery  contains  also  some  wild  rose-bushes  and  two 
or  three  rather  .tin all  trees. 

It  is  evening,  after  vespers.  Long  shadows  are  fall- 
ing from  the  tower  and  the  wall*.  The  nuniaxtery  and 
the  steeple  tire  bathed  in  the  reddish  lit/lit  of  the  set  tiny 
sun.  Monks,  novices  and  pihjr'unx  pass  along  the 
board-icalkx.  In  the  beginning  of  the  net  niaif  be  heard 
behind  the  scenes  the  driving  of  a  village  Jierd,  the  era,  L- 
ing  of  a  herdsman's  :chip,  tin-  bleating  of  sheep,  the 
lowing  of  cattle,  and  dull  cries.  Toward  the  end  of 
the  act  it  grows  much  darker,  and  the  movement  m  the 
yard  ceases  almost  entirely. 

Sarra.  Speranxku,  and  the  Young  Friar  are  seated 
on  a  bench  by  the  iron  fence.  Speransky  is  holding  his 
hat  on  his  knees,  and  now  and  then  he  strokes  his  long, 
straight  hair,  :.7i.;<  //  <'v  hanging  in  two  mournful  strand* 


ACT  n]  SAVVA  43 

over  his  long,  pale  face.  He  holds  his  legs  together, 
speaks  in  a  low,  sad  tone,  and  gesticulates  with  ex- 
tended forefinger.  The  Friar,  young,  round-faced,  and 
vigorous,  pays  no  attention  to  the  conversation,  but  is 
smiling  continually,  as  if  at  his  own  thoughts. 

SAVVA  (preoccupied,  looking  aside) 

Yes.    What  kind  of  work  do  you  do  here? 

SPEEANSKY 

None  at  all,  Mr.  Sawa.  How  can  a  man  in  my  con- 
dition do  any  work?  Once  a  man  begins  to  doubt 
his  own  existence,  the  obligation  to  work  naturally 
ceases  to  exist  for  him.  But  the  deacon's  wife  docs 
not  understand  it.  She  is  a  very  stupid  woman,  ut- 
terly lacking  in  education,  and,  moreover,  of  an 
unlovely,  cruel  disposition.  She  insists  on  making 
me  work.  But  you  can  imagine  the  sort  of  work  I 
do  under  the  circumstances.  You  see,  the  situation 
is  this.  I  have  a  splendid  appetite.  That  appetite 
began  to  develop  while  I  was  yet  a  student  in  the 
seminary.  Now  this  deaconess,  if  you  please,  makes 
a  fuss  about  every  piece  of  bread  I  eat.  She  does  n't 
understand,  the  ignorant  woman,  the  possibility  of 
the  non-existence  of  this  piece  of  bread.  If  I  had 
a  real  existence  like  the  rest  of  you,  I  should  feel 
very  bad,  but  in  my  present  condition  her  attacks 
don't  affect  me  in  the  least.  Nothing  affects  me, 
Mr.  Sawa,  nothing  in  the  wide  world. 
SAVVA  (smiling  at  the  Friar's  unconscious  joy,  but  still 
preoccupied)  How  long  have  you  been  in  this 
condition? 

SPEEANSKY 

It  began  in  the  seminary  while  I  was  studying  philos- 


44  SAWA  [ACT  n 

ophy.  It  is  a  dreadful  condition,  Mr.  Sawn.  I 
have  grown  somewhat  accustomed  to  it  now,  but  at 
fir>t  it  was  unendurable.  I  tried  to  hang  myself 
once,  and  they  cut  me  down.  Then  I  tried  a  second 
time,  and  they  cut  me  down  again.  Thru  they 
turned  me  out  of  the  seminary.  "  Go  hang  yourself 
in  some  other  place,  you  madman,"  they  said.  As 
if  there  were  any  other  place!  As  if  all  places  \vt  i -e 
not  the  same ! 

THE    FRIAR 

.Mr.  Sawa,  let's  go  fishing  to-morrow  at  the  mill. 

8AVVA 

I  don't  like  fishing.    It  bores  me. 

FRIAR 

I  'm  sorry.  Well  then,  let 's  go  into  the  woods  and 
knock  down  the  dry  branches  of  trees.  It 's  fine 
sport  to  walk  about  in  the  forest  and  knock  off 
the  branches  with  a  stick.  And  when  you  shout 
"  Ho-ho-ho !  "  the  echo  from  the  ravine  answers  back 
"  Ho-ho-ho !  "  Do  you  like  swimming? 

SAWA 

Yes,  I  like  it.    I  am  a  good  swimmer. 

FRIAR 

I  like  it  too. 

SPERANSKY  (with  a  deep  sigh) 
Yes,  it 's  a  strange  condition. 

\  (smiling  at  the  Friar) 
Eh?    Well,  how  are  you  now? 

SPERANSKY 

When  my  uncle  took  me  to  his  house,  he  made  me 
promise  I  would  never  attempt  suicide  again.  That 
was  the  only  condition  on  which  he  would  consent  to 
let  me  live  with  him.  "  All  right,"  I  said ;  "  if  we 


ACT  n]  SAVVA  45 

really  exist,  then  I  won't  make  any  further  attempt 
to  hang  myself." 

SAVVA 

Why  do  you  want  to  know  whether  you  exist  or  not? 
There  is  the  sky.  Look,  how  beautiful  it  is.  There 
are  the  swallows  and  the  sweet-scented  grass.  It 's 
fine!  (To  the  Friar)  Fine,  isn't  it,  Vassya? 

FRIAR 

Mr.  Sawa,  do  you  like  to  tear  up  ant-hills? 

SAVVA 

I  don't  know.    I  never  tried. 

FRIAR 

I  like  it.    Do  you  like  to  fly  kites  ? 

SAVVA 

It 's  a  long  time  since  I  tried  to.  I  used  to  like  it 
very  much. 

SPERANSKY  (patiently  awaiting  the  end  of  their  conver- 
sation) Swallows !  What  good  is  their  flying  to 
me?  Anyhow,  maybe  swallows  don't  exist  either, 
and  it 's  all  a  dream. 

SAVVA 

Suppose  it  is  a  dream.  Dreams  are  very  beautiful 
sometimes,  you  know. 

SPERANSKY 

I  should  like  to  wake  up,  but  I  can't.  I  wander 
around  and  wander  around  until  I  am  weary  and 
feeble,  and  when  I  rouse  myself  I  find  I  am  here,  in 
the  very  same  place.  There  is  the  monastery  and  the 
belfry,  and  the  clock  strikes  the  hour.  And  it 's  all 
like  a  dream,  a  fantasy.  You  close  your  eyes,  and  it 
does  n't  exist.  You  open  them,  and  it 's  there  again. 
Sometimes  I  go  out  into  the  fields  at  night  and  close 
my  eyes,  and  then  it  seems  to  me  there  is  nothing 


46  SAVVA  [ACT  n 

at  all  existing.  Suddenly  the  quail  h.-^in  to  call, 
and  n  wagon  rolls  down  tin-  road.  Again  11  dream. 
For  if  you  stopped  up  your  cars,  you  would  n't  hear 
those  sounds.  When  I  die.  i  \erything  will  grow 
silent,  and  thru  it  will  be  true.  Only  the  dead  know 
tin-  truth,  Mr.  Savva. 

i  I;I\K  (smiling,  cautiously  waiiin/  hit  hands  at  a  bird; 
in  a  whisper)  It 's  time  to  go  to  lx>d,  time  to  #o  to 
bed. 

SAVVA  (impatiently) 

What  dead?  Listen,  my  dear  sir.  I  have  a  plain, 
simple,  peasant  mind,  and  I  don't  understand  those 
subtleties.  What  dead  are  you  talking  about? 

SPERANSKV 

About  all  the  dead,  every  one  without  exception. 
That's  why  the  faces  of  the  dead  are  so  serene. 
'Whatever  agonies  a  man  may  have  suffered  before 
his  death,  the  moment  he  dies  his  face  becomes  serene. 
That 's  because  he  has  learned  the  truth.  I  always 
come  here  to  attend  the  funerals.  It 's  astonishing. 
There  was  a  woman  buried  here.  She  had  died  of 
grief  because  her  husband  was  crushed  under  a  loco- 
motive. You  can  imagine  what  must  have  been  going 
on  in  her  mind  before  her  death.  It 's  too  horrible 
to  think  of.  Yet  she  lay  there,  in  the  coffin,  absolutely 
serene  and  calm.  That 's  because  she  had  come  to 
know  that  her  grief  was  nothing  but  a  dream,  a 
mere  phantom.  I  like  the  dead,  Mr.  Savva.  I  think 
the  dead  really  exist. 

8AWA 

I  don't  like  the  dead.  (Impatiently)  You  are  a 
very  disagreeable  fellow.  Has  anybody  ever  told 
you  that? 


ACT  n]  SAVVA  47 

SPERANSKY 

Yes,  I  have  heard  it  before. 
SAVVA 

I  would  never  have  taken  you  out  of  the  noose. 
What  damn  fool  did  it  anyway? 

SPERANSKY 

The  first  time  it  was  the  Father  Steward,  the  next 
time  my  classmates.  I  am  very  sorry  you  disap- 
prove of  me,  Mr.  Tropinin.  As  you  are  an  edu- 
cated man,  I  should  have  liked  to  show  you  a  bit  of 
writing  I  did  while  I  was  in  the  seminary.  It 's 
called  "The  Tramp  of  Death."  It's  a  sort  of 
story. 

SAVVA 

No,  spare  me,  please.     Altogether  I  wish  you  'd  — 

FRIAR  (rising) 

There  comes  Father  Kirill.     I  had  better  beat  it. 

SAVVA 
Why? 

FRIAR 

He  came  across  me  in  the  forest  the  other  day  when 
I  was  shouting  "  Ho !  Ho  !  "  "  Ah,"  said  he,  "  you 
forest  sprite  with  goat's  feet !  "  To-morrow  after 
dinner,  all  right?  (Walks  away,  sedately  at  first, 
but  then  with  a  sort  of  dancing  step) 

FAT  MONK  (approaches) 

Well,  young  men,  having  a  pleasant  chat?  Are  you 
Mr.  Tropinin's  son? 

SAVVA 

I  am  the  man. 

FAT    MONK 

I  have  heard  about  you.  A  decent,  respectable 
gentleman  your  father  is.  May  I  sit  down?  (He 


48  SAVVA  [ACT  n 

sits  doicn)  The  sun  has  set,  vet  it  's  still  hot.  I 
wonder  if  we'll  have  a  storm  to-night.  Well,  young 
mail,  how  do  you  like  it  here.'  How  does  this  place 
compare  with  the  metropolis? 

SAVVA 

It 's  a  rich  monastery. 

FAT    MONK 

Yes,  thank  the  Lord.  It  's  celebrated  nil  over 
Russia.  There  are  many  who  come  here  even  from 
Siberia.  Its  fame  reaches  far.  There  '11  soon  be  a 
feast-day,  and  — 

sKY 

You  '11  work  yourself  sick,  father.  Services  day  and 
night. 

FAT    MONK 

Yes,  we  must  do  our  best  for  the  monastery. 

SAVVA 

Not  for  the  people? 

FAT    MOXK 

Yes,  for  the  people  too.  For  whom  else?  Last  year 
a  large  number  of  epileptics  were  cured;  quite  a  lot 
of  them.  One  blind  man  had  his  eyesight  restored, 
and  two  paralytics  were  made  to  walk.  You  '11  see 
for  yourself,  young  man,  and  then  you  won't  smile. 
I  have  heard  that  you  are  an  unbeliever. 
SAVVA 

You   have   heard    correctly.      I   am    an    unbeliever. 

FAT    MONK 

It 's  a  shame,  a  shame.  Of  course,  there  are  many 
unbelievers  nowadays  among  the  educated  classes. 
But  are  they  any  happier  on  that  account?  I 
doubt  it. 


ACT  n]  SAVVA  49 

SAVVA 

No,  there  are  not  so  many.  They  think  they  are 
unbelievers  because  they  don't  go  to  church.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  they  have  greater  faith  than  you. 
It 's  more  deep-seated. 

FAT    MONK 

Is  that  so? 

SAVVA 

Yes,  yes.  The  form  of  their  faith  is,  of  course, 
more  refined.  They  are  cultured,  you  see. 

FAT    MONK 

Of  course,  of  course.     People  feel  better,  feel  more 

confident  and  secure,  if  they  believe. 
SAVVA 

They  say  the  devil  is  choking  the  monks  here  every 

night. 
FAT  MONK  (laughing) 

Nonsense.       (To     the    Gray    Monk    passing    by) 

Father  Vissarion,  come  here  a  moment.     Sit  down. 

Mr.   Tropinin's   son  here   says   the  devil   chokes   us 

every  night.     Have  you  heard  about  it?     (The  two 

monks  laugh  good-naturedly  as  they  look  at  each 

other) 

GRAY    MONK 

Some  of  the  monks  can't  sleep  well  because  they  have 
overeaten,    so    they    think    they    are    being    choked. 
Why,  young  man,  the  devil  can't  enter  within  our 
sacred  precincts. 
SAVVA 

But  suppose  he  does  suddenly  put  in  an  appearance? 
What  will  you  do  then? 

FAT    MONK 

We  '11  get  after  him  with  the  holy-water  sprinkler, 


50  SAVVA  [A< 

that's  what  we  '11  do.  "Don't  liutt  in  \vlu-rr  you 
luivf  no  business  to,  you  black-faced  booby !  "  (The 
monk  la  ugh*) 

GRAY    MONK 

Here  comes  King  Herod. 

FAT   MONK 

Wait  a  while,  Father  Vissarion.  (To  Sawa)  You 
talk  about  faith  and  such  things.  There  's  a  ni.ui 
for  you  —  look  at  him  —  see  how  ho  walks.  And 
yet  he  has  chains  on  him  weighing  four  hundred 
pounds.  He  does  n't  walk,  he  dances.  He  visits 
us  every  summer,  and  I  must  say  he  is  a  very  valu- 
able guest.  His  example  strengthens  others  in  tla-ir 
faith.  Herod!  Ho,  Herod! 

KING   HEROD 

What  do  you  want? 

FAT    MONK 

Come  here  a  minute.  This  gentleman  doubts  the 
existence  of  God.  Talk  to  him. 

KING   HEROD 

Wliat  's  the  matter  with  yourself?  Are  you  so  full 
of  booze  that  you  can't  wag  your  own  tongue? 

FAT    MONK 

You  heretic!  What  a  heretic!  (Both  monks 
I  a  ugh) 

KING  HEROD  (approaching) 
What  gentleman? 

FAT    MONK 

This  one. 
KING  HEROD  (tcrut'lruzing  him) 

He  doubts?  Let  him  doubt.  It's  none  of  my 
business. 


ACT  n]  SAVVA  51 

SAVVA 

Oh! 

KING    HEROD 

Why,  what  did  you  think? 

FAT    MONK 

Sit  down,  please. 

KING    HEROD 

Never  mind.     I  'd  rather  stand. 
FAT  MONK  (to  Sdvva,  in  a  loud  whisper) 

He  is  doing  that  to  wear  himself  out.  Until  he  has 
reduced  himself  to  absolute  faintness  he  '11  neither 
sleep  nor  eat.  (Aloud)  This  gentleman  is  wonder- 
ing at  the  kind  of  chains  you  have  on  your  body. 

KING    HEROD 

Chains?  Just  baby  rattles.  Put  them  on  a  horse 
and  he  too  would  carry  them  if  he  had  the  strength. 
I  have  a  sad  heart.  (Looks  at  Sawa)  You  know,  I 
killed  my  own  son.  Yes,  I  did.  Have  they  been 
telling  you  about  me,  these  chatterboxes? 
SAVVA 

They  have. 

KING    HEROD 

Can  you  understand  it? 
SAVVA 

Why  not?    Yes,  I  can. 

KING    HEROD 

You  lie  —  you  can't.  No  one  can  understand  it. 
Go  through  the  whole  world,  search  round  the  whole 
globe,  ask  everybody  —  no  one  will  be  able  to  tell 
you,  no  one  will  understand.  And  if  anyone  says 
he  does,  take  it  from  me  that  he  lies,  lies  just  as  you 
do.  Why,  you  can't  even  see  your  own  nose  prop- 
erly, yet  you  have  the  brazenness  to  say  you  under- 


52  SAVYA  [ACT  n 

stand.  (Jo.  You  are  a  foolish  boy,  that's  what 
von  arc. 

8AWA 

And  you  are  wise? 

KING     11  I  KOI) 

lamwi-i.     My  sorrow  has  made  me  so.    It  is  a  great 
sorrow.     There  is  none  greater  on  earth.     I   killed 
my-  son  with  my  own  hand.      Not   tin    hand  you  are 
looking  at,  but  the  one  which  is  n't  here. 
SAWA 

Where  is  it? 

KING    HEROD 

I  burnt  it.    I  held  it  in  the  stove  and  let  it  burn  up 
to  my  elbow. 
SAVVA 

Did  that  relieve  you? 

KING    HEROD 

No.     Fire  cannot  destroy  my  grief.     It  burns  with 
a  heat  that  is  greater  than  fire. 
SAVVA 

Fire,  brother,  destroys  everything. 

KING     IIKROD 

No,  young  man,  fire  is  weak.     Spit  on  it  and  it  is 
quenched. 
SAVVA 

What  fire?  It  is  possible  to  kindle  such  a  conflagra- 
tion that  an  ocean  of  water  will  not  quench  it. 

KING    IIKROD 

No,  boy.  Every  fire  goes  out  when  its  time  comes. 
My  grief  's  great,  so  great  that  when  I  look  around 
me  I  say  to  myself:  Good  heavens,  what  has  become 
of  everything  •  N(  that  's  large  and  great?  Where 
has  it  all  gone  to?  The  forest  is  small,  the  house  is 


ACT  n]  SAVVA  53 

small,  the  mountain  is  small,  the  whole  earth  is  small, 
a  mere  poppy  seed.    You  have  to  walk  cautiously  and 
look  out,  lest  you  reach  the  end  and  drop  off. 
FAT  MONK  (pleased) 

Fine,  King  Herod,  you  are  going  it  strong. 

KING    HEROD 

Even  the  sun  does  not  rise  for  me.  For  others  it 
rises,  but  for  me  it  does  n't.  Others  don't  see  the 
darkness  by  day,  but  I  see  it.  It  penetrates  the  light 
like  dust.  At  first  I  seem  to  see  a  sort  of  light,  but 
then  —  good  heavens,  the  sky  is  dark,  the  earth  is 
dark,  all  is  like  soot.  Yonder  is  something  vague 
and  misty.  I  can't  even  make  out  what  it  is.  Is  it 
a  human  being,  is  it  a  bush?  My  grief  is  great, 
immense!  (Grows  pensive)  If  I  cried,  who  would 
hear  me?  If  I  shouted,  who  would  respond? 

FAT  MONK  (to  the  Gray  Monk) 
The  dogs  in  the  village  might. 

KING  HEROD  (shaTciug  his  head) 

O  you  people !  You  are  looking  at  me  as  at  a  mon- 
strosity —  at  my  hair,  my  chains  —  because  I  killed 
my  son  and  because  I  am  like  King  Herod;  but 
my  soul  you  see  not,  and  my  grief  you  know  not. 
You  are  as  blind  as  earthworms.  You  would  n't 
know  if  you  were  struck  with  a  beam  on  the  head. 
Say,  you  pot-belly,  what  are  you  shaking  your 
paunch  for? 

SAVVA 

Why  —  the  way  he  talks  to  you ! 

FAT  MONK  (reassuringly) 

It 's  nothing.  He  treats  us  all  like  that.  He  up- 
braids us  all. 


54  SAVVA  [ACT  n 

KINO    HEROD 

Yes,  and  I  will  continue  to  upbraid.     1-Yllows  like 
you  are  not  fit  to  serve  God.    What  you  ought  to  do 
is  to  sit  in  a  drinkshop  amusing  Satan.     Tin-  devils 
use  your  belly  to  go  sleigh-riding  on  at  night. 
FAT  MONK  (good-naturedly) 

Well,  well,  God  be  with  you.  You  had  better  speak 
about  yourself;  stick  to  that. 

KING   HKROD  (  t O  SdVVa) 

You  see?  He  wants  to  feast  on  my  agony.  Go 
ahead,  feast  all  you  want. 

GRAY    MONK 

My,  what  a  scold  you  are.  Where  do  you  get  your 
vocabulary?  He  once  told  the  Father  Superior  that 
if  God  were  not  immortal  he,  the  Father  Superior, 
would  long  ago  have  sold  him  piece  by  piece.  But 
we  tolerate  him.  He  can  do  no  harm  in  a  monastery. 

FAT    MONK 

He  attracts  people.  Many  come  here  for  his  sake. 
And  what  difference  does  it  make  to  us?  God  sees 
our  purity.  Is  n't  that  so,  King  Herod? 

KING    HEROD 

Oh,  shut  up,  you  old  dotard.  Look  at  him;  he 
can  scarcely  move  his  legs,  old  Harry  with  the  evil 
eye.  Keeps  three  women  in  the  village;  one  is  not 
enough  for  him.  (The  monks  laugh  good-naturedly) 
You  see,  you  see?  Whew!  Look  at  their  brazen, 
shameless  eyes !  Might  as  well  spit  on  them ! 

8AWA 

Why  do  you  come  here? 

KING    HEROD 

Not  for  them.  Listen,  young  man.  Have  you  a 
grief? 


ACT  n]  SAVVA  55 

SAVVA 

Perhaps  I  have.    Why? 

KING    HEROD 

Then  listen  to  me.  When  you  are  in  sorrow,  when 
you  are  suffering,  don't  go  to  people.  If  you  have 
a  friend,  don't  go  to  him.  It 's  more  than  you  '11 
be  able  to  stand.  Better  go  to  the  wolves  in  the 
forest.  They  '11  make  short  work  of  it,  devour  you 
at  once,  and  there  will  be  the  end  of  it.  I  have  seen 
many  evil  things,  but  I  have  never  seen  anything 
worse  than  man.  No,  never!  They  say  men  are 
created  in  His  image,  in  His  likeness.  Why,  you 
skunks,  you  have  no  image.  If  you  had  one,  the 
tiniest  excuse  for  one,  you  would  crawl  away  on  all 
fours  and  hide  somewhere  from  sheer  shame.  You 
damned  skunks!  Laugh  at  them,  cry  before  them, 
shout  at  them.  It  does  n't  make  any  difference. 
They  go  on  licking  their  chops.  King  Herod  — 
Damned  skunks !  And  when  King  Herod  —  not  I, 
but  the  real  one  with  a  golden  crown  —  killed  your 
children,  where  were  you  —  hey  ? 

FAT    MONK 

We  were  n't  even  in  the  world  then,  man. 

KING    HEROD 

Then  there  were  others  like  you.  He  killed.  You 
accepted  it.  That 's  all.  I  have  asked  many  the 
question :  "  What  would  you  have  done  ?  "  "  Noth- 
ing," they  always  reply.  "  If  he  killed,  what  could 
be  done  about  it  ?  "  Fine  creatures !  Have  n't  the 
manliness  to  stand  up  even  for  their  children.  They 
are  worse  than  dogs,  damn  them ! 

FAT   MONK 

And  what  would  you  have  done? 


56  SAVVA  [AC-T   n 

111  ROD 

I?  I  should  li.-ivi-  wrung  his  neck  from  off  hi>  nn.il 
gold  crown  —  the  confounded  bruti •! 

C.KAV     MONK 

It  says  in  the  scriptun •:  "Render  unto  C«sar  the 
things  that  are  Cajsar's,  and  to  God  tin-  things  tliat 
are  God's." 

FAT    MONK 

That  is  to  say,  don't  interfere  with  other  people's 
business.  Do  you  understand? 

KING    IIKKOD    (to  Stttl'd,   M  despair) 

Just  listen,  listen  to  what  they  are  saying. 

SAVVA 

I  hear  what  they  are  saying. 

KIN<;   HEROD 

Just  you  wait,  my  precious !  You  '11  get  what 's  com- 
ing to  you,  and  mighty  quick.  The  devil  will  come 
and  hurl  you  into  the  fiery  pit.  To  hell,  to  gehemm, 
with  you!  How  your  fat  will  melt  and  run!  Do 
you  get  the  smell,  monk? 

FAT    MONK 

That 's  from  the  refectory. 

KING    HEROD 

You  are  on  the  run,  fast  as  your  feet  can  carry  you ! 
Ah!  but  where  to?     Everywhere  i>  lull,  everywhere 
i>  fire.     You  refused  to  hearken  unto  me,  my  pet; 
now  you  shall  hearken  unto   the  fire.     Won't  I  be 
glad,  won't  I  rejoice!    I  '11  take  off  rny  chains  so  that 
I  can  catch  them  and  present  them  to  the  devil  - 
fir^t  one,  then  the  other.     Here,  take  him.     And  the 
howl  they  '11  set  up,  and  the  weeping  and  lamentation. 
"I  am  not  guilty."     Not  Anility?     Who,  then,  is  — 
who?     To  gehenna   with  you!     Burn,  you  damned 


ACT  n]  SAVVA  57 

hypocrites,  until  the  second  Advent.  And  then  we  '11 
build  a  new  fire,  then  we  '11  build  a  new  fire. 

GRAY  MONK 

Is  n't  it  time  for  us  to  go,  Father  Kirill? 

FAT    MONK 

Yeo,  we  had  better  be  moving  along.  It 's  getting 
dark,  and  it 's  time  to  retire. 

KING    HEROD 

Aha !  You  don't  like  to  hear  the  truth.  It  is  n't 
pleasant,  is  it? 

FAT    MONK 

Hee-hee,  brother,  talk  is  cheap.  A  barking  dog 
does  n't  bite.  Scold  away,  scold  away.  We  are 
listening.  God  in  heaven  will  decide  who  is  to  go  to 
hell  and  who  elsewhere.  "  The  meek  shall  inherit  the 
earth,"  says  the  Gospel.  Good-bye,  young  gentlemen. 
GRAY  MONK  ( t o  King  Herod) 

Let  me  give  you  a  piece  of  advice,  however.  Talk, 
but  don't  talk  too  much.  Don't  go  too  far.  We 
are  only  tolerating  you  because  you  are  a  pitiful 
creature  and  because  you  are  foolish.  But  if  you 
give  your  tongue  too  free  a  rein,  we  can  stop  it,  you 
know.  Yes,  indeed. 

KING    HEROD 

All  right,  try  —  try  to  stop  me. 

FAT    MONK 

What 's  the  use,  Father  Vissarion?     Let  him  talk. 
It  does  n't  do  any  harm.    Listen,  listen,  young  gentle- 
men.   He  is  an  interesting  fellow.     Good  night. 
[They  go.  The  Fat  Monk  is  heard  laughing  heartily. 
KING  HEROIC  (to  Sawa) 

Fine  specimens.    I  can't  stand  them. 


58  S.\N 


8AVVA 

I  like  you,  uncle. 

•BOO 
Do  you?    So  you  don't  like  tlu-ir  kind  either? 

8AVVA 

No,  I  don't. 

KIN<;     IIKUOD 

Well,  I  '11  sit  down  for  a  while.    My  legs  are  swollen. 
Have  you  got  a  cigarette? 
SAWA  (handing  him  a  cigarette) 
Do  you  smoke? 

KING    HEROD 

Sometimes.      Excuse  me   for  having  talked   to   you 
the  way  I  did  before.     You  are  a  good  fellow.     But 
why  did  you  lie  and  say  you  understood?     No  one 
can  understand  it.     Who  is  this  with  you? 
SAVVA 

Oh,  he  just  happened  along. 

KINO    HEROD 

Well,  brother,  feeling  bad,  down  in  the  mouth? 

SPERANSKY 

Yes,  I  feel  blue. 

KING    HEROD 

Keep  still,  keep  still,  I  don't  want  to  listen.  You 
are  suffering?  Keep  still.  I  am  a  man  too,  brother, 
so  I  don't  understand.  I  '11  insult  you  if  you  don't 
lookout.  {Throws  away  the  cigarette)  No,  I  can't. 
As  long  as  I  keep  standing  or  walking  I  manage  some- 
how. The  moment  I  sit  down,  it's  hdl.  ()w-\v-w  — 
(  Writhing  in  agony)  I  simply  can't  catch  my 
breath.  Oh,  God,  do  you  see  my  torture?  Eh? 
\\.ll,  well,  it's  nothing.  It's  gone.  Oh!  Ow-w  ! 
[The  sky  has  become  overcast  with  clouds.  It  turns 


ACT  n]  SAVVA  59 

dark  quickly.    Now  and  then  there  are  flashes  of 
lightning. 
SAVVA  (quietly") 

One  must  try  to  stifle  one's  grief,  old  man.  Fight 
it.  Say  to  yourself  firmly  and  resolutely :  "  I  don't 
want  it."  And  it  will  cease  to  be.  You  seem  to  be 
a  good,  strong  man. 

KING    HEROD 

No,  friend,  my  grief  is  such  that  even  death  won't 
remove  it.  What  is  death?  It  is  little,  insignificant, 
and  my  grief  is  great.  No,  death  won't  end  my 
grief.  There  was  Cain.  Even  when  he  died,  his 
sorrow  remained. 

SPERANSKY 

The  dead  do  not  grieve.  They  are  serene.  They 
know  the  truth. 

KING    HEROD 

But  they  don't  tell  it  to  anybody.  What 's  the  good 
of  such  truth?  Here  am  I  alive,  and  yet  I  know  the 
truth.  Here  am  I  with  my  sorrow.  You  see  what  it 
is  —  there  is  no  greater  on  earth.  And  yet  if  God 
spoke  to  me  and  said,  "  Yeremey,  I  will  give  you  the 
whole  earth  if  you  give  me  your  grief,"  I  would  n't 
give  it  away.  I  will  not  give  it  away,  friend.  It  is 
sweeter  to  me  than  honey;  it  is  stronger  than  the 
strongest  drink.  Through  it  I  have  learned  the 
truth. 
SAVVA 
God? 

KING    HEROD 

Christ  —  that 's  the  one !  He  alone  can  understand 
the  sorrow  that  is  in  me.  He  sees  and  understands. 
"  Yes,  Yeremey,  I  see  how  you  suffer."  That 's  all. 


60  SAVN  A  [ACT   u 

••I  ne»"  And  I  answer  Him :  M  Yei»  O  Laid*  bohold 
my  sorrow!  "  Tlmt  's  nil.  No  more  is  necessary. 

SAW  A 

What  you  value  in  Christ  is  His  suffering  for  tin- 
people,  is  that  it? 

KING    HEROD 

You  mean  liis  crucifixion?  No,  brother,  that  suffer- 
ing was  a  trifle.  They  crucified  Him  —  what  did 
that  matter?  The  important  point  was  that  thereby 
He  came  to  know  the  truth.  As  long  as  He  walked 
the  earth,  lie  was  —  well  —  a  man,  rather  a  good 
man  —  talking  here  and  there  about  this  and  that. 
When  He  met  someone,  He  would  talk  to  him  aboiif 
this  and  that,  teach  him,  and  tell  him  a  few  good 
things  to  put  him  on  the  right  track.  But  when 
these  same  fellows  carried  Him  off  to  the  cross  and 
went  at  Him  with  knouts,  whips,  and  lashes,  then 
His  eyes  were  opened.  "  Aha !  "  He  said,  "  so  that  's 
what  it  is!"  And  He  prayed:  "I  cannot  endure 
such  suffering.  I  thought  it  would  be  a  simple 
crucifixion;  but,  O  Father  in  Heaven,  what  is  this?  " 
And  the  Father  said  to  Him:  "  Never  mind,  never 
mind,  Son!  Know  the  truth,  know  what  it  is."  And 
from  then  on,  He  fell  to  sorrowing,  and  has  been 
sorrowing  to  this  day. 

8AVVA 

Sorrowing? 
HINT,  m:  it  on 

Yes,  friend,  he  is  sorrowing.     (Pause.     Lightning) 

6PERANSKY 

It  looks  like  rain,  and  I  am  without  rubbers  and 
umbrella. 


ACT  n]  SAVVA  61 

KING    HEROD 

And  everywhere,  wheresoever  I  go,  wheresoever  I 
turn,  I  see  before  me  His  pure  visage.  "  Do  you 
understand  my  suffering,  O  Lord?  "  "  I  understand, 
Yeremey,  I  understand  everything.  Go  your  way  in 
peace."  I  am  to  Him  like  a  transparent  crystal  with 
a  tear  inside.  "You  understand,  Lord?"  "I 
understand,  Yeremey."  "  Well,  and  I  understand 
you  too."  So  we  live  together.  He  with  me,  I  with 
Him.  I  am  sorry  for  Him  also.  When  I  die,  I 
will  transmit  my  sorrow  to  Him.  "  Take  it,  Lord." 
SAVVA 

But  after  all,  you  are  not  quite  right  in  running  down 
the  people  the  way  you  do.  There  are  some  good 
men  also  —  very  few  —  but  there  are  some.  Other- 
wise it  would  n't  be  of  any  use  to  live. 

KING    HEROD 

No,  friend,  there  are  none.     I  don't  want  to   fool 
you  —  there  are  none.     You  know,  it  was  they  who 
christened  me  with  the  name  of  King  Herod. 
SAVVA 
Who? 

KING    HEROD 

Why,  your  people.  There  is  no  beast  more  cruel 
than  man.  I  killed  my  boy,  so  I  am  King  Herod  to 
them.  Damn  them,  it  never  enters  their  minds  how 
terrible  it  is  for  me  to  be  burdened  with  such  a  nick- 
name. Herod!  If  they  only  called  me  so  out  of 
spite !  But  not  at  all. 
SAVVA 

What  is  your  real  name? 

KING    HEROD 

Yeremey.    That 's  my  name  —  Yeremey.     But  they 


62 SAVVA [ACT  n 

call  nu-  Herod,  am-fully  adding  King,  so  that   thriv 
may    be    no    mistake.     Look,    the- re    comes    another 
monk,  a  plague  on  him.     Say,  did  you  ever  sec  His 
countenance? 
SAVVA 
I  did. 

KING    HEROD 

And  did  you  see  His  eyes?    No?    Then  look,  try  to 
see  them —     Where  is  he  off  to,  the  bat?     To  the 
village  to  his  women. 
KOXDRATY  (enters) 

Peace  be  with  you,  honest  folks.  Good  evening, 
Savva.  To  what  lucky  chance  do  I  owe  this  meeting? 

KING    HEROD 

Look,  monk,  the  devil's  tail  is  sticking  out  of  your 
pocket. 

KONDRATY 

It    is  n't   the   devil's   tail,   it 's   a   radish.      You  're 

very  clever,  but  you  did  n't  hit  it  right  that  time. 
KING  HEROD  (spitting  in  disgust) 

I  can't  bear  to  look  at  them.    They  turn  my  stomach. 

Good-bye,    friend.     Remember    what    I    told    you. 

When  you  are  in  sorrow,  don't  go  to  people. 
SAVVA 

All  right,  uncle,  I  understand. 

KINO    HEROD 

Rather  go  to  the  forest  to  the  wolves.  (Goes  out; 
his  voice  is  heard  out  of  the  darkness)  Oh,  Lord, 
do  you  see? 

KONDRATY 

A  narrow-minded  fool.  Killed  his  son  and  puts  on 
airs.  You  can't  get  by  him.  He  won't  let  you  alone. 


ACT  n]  SAVVA  63 

It 's  something  to  be  proud  of,  is  n't  it,  to  have  killed 
one's  own  son?    A  great  thing. 
SPERANSKY  (with  a  sigh) 

No,  Father  Kondraty,  you  are  mistaken.  He  is  a 
happy  man.  If  his  son  were  brought  to  life  this 
moment,  he  would  instantly  kill  him.  He  would  n't 
give  him  five  minutes  to  live.  But  of  course  when  he 
dies,  he  '11  know  the  truth, 

KONDRATY 

That 's  what  I  said,  you  fool.  If  it  were  a  cat  he 
killed,  he  might  have  some  reason  to  be  proud  —  but 
his  own  son!  What  are  you  thinking  about,  Sawa 
Yegorovich? 

SAVVA 

I  am  waiting.  I  should  like  to  know  how  soon  this 
gentleman  will  go.  The  devil  brought  him,  I  think. 
Now,  here  comes  someone  else.  (Peetrs  into  the 
darkness) 

LIPA  (approaching.     She  stops  and  hesitates) 
Is  that  you,  Sawa? 

SAVVA 

Yes,  and  is  that  you?  What  do  you  want?  I  don't 
like  people  to  follow  me  everywhere  I  go,  sister. 

IJPA 

The  gate  to  this  place  is  open.     Everybody  has  a 
right  to  come  in.     Mr.  Speransky,  Tony  has  been 
asking  for  you.    He  wants  the  seminarist,  he  says. 
SAVVA 

There,  go  together  —  a  jolly  pair.  Good-bye,  sir, 
good-bye. 

SPERANSKY 

Good-bye.  I  hope  I  '11  see  you  soon  again,  Mr. 
Sawa,  and  have  another  talk. 


64  BAWJ  [ACT  .. 

SAW  \ 

\o,  don't  try,  please.  Abandon  tin  hope.  Good- 
bye. 

I.II'A 

How  rude  }'ou  arc,  Sawa.  Come,  Mr.  Spcransky. 
They  have  business  of  tbcir  own  to  attend  to. 

8PERANSKV 

Still  I  haven't  given  up  hope.  Good-bye.  (Goes 
out) 

8AVVA 

Just  grabbed  me  and  stuck  —  the  devil  take  him ! 
KONDRATV   (laughing) 

Yes,  he  is  a  sticker  from  the  word  go.  If  he  likes 
you,  you  can't  shake  him  off.  He  '11  follow  you 
(\iry\v here.  We  call  him  the  "shadow"  partly, 
I  suppose,  because  he  is  so  thin.  He  has  taken  a 
fancy  to  you,  so  you  '11  have  a  time  of  it.  He  '11 
stick  to  you  like  a  leech. 

8AVVA 

I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  wasting  a  lot  of  words.  I  '11 
give  him  the  slip  without  much  ceremony. 

KOXDRATY 

They  have  even  tried  beating  him,  but  it  doesn't  do 
any  good.  He  is  known  here  for  miks  around.  He- 
is  a  character. 

[A  pause.    Lightning.    Every  now  and  then  is  heard 
the  roll  of  distant   thunder. 
SAVVA 

Why  did  you  tell  me  to  meet  you  In  n  in  thi->  public 
place  where  everyone  may  corm-?  They  fell  on  me 
like  a  swarm  of  fleas  —  monks  and  all  sorts  of  im- 
beciles. I  'd  rather  have  spoken  to  you  in  the  woods, 
where  we  could  be  let  alone. 


ACT  n]  SAVVA  65 

KONDRATY 

I  did  it  to  escape  suspicion.  If  I  went  with  you  to 
the  woods  they  'd  say :  "  What  has  a  God-fearing 
man  like  Kondraty  got  to  do  with  such  a  fellow?  " 
I  hope  you  pardon !  "  Why  is  he  so  thick  with 
him?  "  I  purposely  timed  my  coming  so  that  they  'd 
see  us  together  with  others. 

SAVVA  {looking  fixedly  at  him) 
Well? 

KONDRATY  (turning  away  his  eyes  and  shrugging  his 
shoulders)      I  can't. 

SAVVA 

You  are  afraid? 

KONDRATY 

To  tell  the  truth,  I  am. 

SAVVA 

You  're  no  good,  old  chap. 

KONDRATY 

Perhaps  not.     You  have  a  right  to  draw  your  own 
conclusions.     {Pause) 
SAVVA 

But  what  are  you  afraid  of,  you  booby?  The  ma- 
chine is  not  dangerous.  It  won't  hurt  you.  All  you 
have  to  do  is  to  put  it  in  the  right  place,  set  it  off, 
and  then  you  can  go  to  the  village  to  your  mistresses. 

KONDRATY 

That 's  not  the  point. 
SAVVA 

What  then?  Are  you  afraid  of  being  caught?  But 
I  told  you,  if  anything  should  happen,  I  '11  take  the 
guilt  on  myself.  Don't  you  believe  me? 

KONDRATY 

Why,  of  course  I  believe  you. 


66  SAVVA  [ACT  11 

SAVVA 

What  then?    Do  you  fear  God? 

KONDRATY 

Yes,  I  do. 

SAVVA 

But  you  don't  believe  in  God  —  you  believe  in  the 
devil. 

KONDBATY 

Who  knows?  Maybe  some  day  I'll  suddenly  dis- 
cover that  He  does  exist.  In  that  case,  Mr.  Savva, 
I  thank  you,  but  I'd  rather  not.  Why  should  I? 
I  live  a  nice,  quiet  existence.  Of  course,  it 's  all  a 
humbug,  nn  imposition.  But  what  business  is  it  of 
mine?  The  people  want  to  believe  —  let  them.  It 
was  n't  I  who  invented  God. 

SAVVA 

Look  here.  You  know  I  could  have  done  it  myself. 
All  I  need  have  done  was  to  take  a  bomb  and  throw 
it  into  the  procession.  That 's  all.  But  that  would 
mean  the  killing  of  many  people,  which  at  the  pres- 
ent juncture  would  serve  no  useful  purpose.  I 
therefore  ask  you  to  do  it.  If  you  refuse,  then  the 
blood  will  rest  on  you.  You  understand? 

KOXDRATY 

Why  on  me?  I  am  not  going  to  throw  the  bomb. 
And  then,  what  have  I  got  to  do  with  them  —  I  mean 
the  people  that  get  killed?  What  concern  are  they 
of  mine?  There  are  plenty  of  people  in  the  world. 
You  can't  kill  them  all,  no  matter  how  many  bombs 
you  throw. 

SAVVA 

Are  n't  you  sorry  for  them  ? 


ACT  n]  SAVVA  67 

KONDRATY 

If  I  were  to  be  sorry  for  everybody,  I  should  have 
no  sympathy  left  for  myself. 

SAVVA 

That 's  right.  You  are  a  bright  man.  You  have  a 
good  mind.  I  have  already  told  you  so.  And  yet 
you  hesitate.  You  are  clever,  and  yet  you  are  afraid 
to  smash  a  piece  of  wood. 

KONDRATY 

If  it  is  nothing  but  a  piece  of  wood,  then  why  go  to 
so  much  trouble  about  it?  The  point  is,  it  is  not  a 
piece  of  wood,  it  is  an  image. 

SAVVA 

For  me  it  is  a  piece  of  wood.  For  the  people  it  is  a 
sacred  object.  That  is  why  I  want  to  destroy  it. 
Imagine  how  they  '11  open  their  mouths  and  stare. 
Ah,  brother,  if  you  were  not  a  coward,  I  would  tell 
you  some  things. 

KONDRATY 

Go  ahead  and  talk.     It 's  no  sin  to  listen.     I  am  not 
a  coward  either.     I  am  simply  careful. 
SAVVA 

This  would  only  be  the  beginning,  brother. 

KONDRATY 

A  good  beginning,  I  won't  deny  it.     And  what  will 
be  the  end? 
SAVVA 

The  earth  stripped  naked,  a  tabula  rasa,  do  you 
understand?  And  on  this  naked  earth,  naked  man, 
naked  as  his  mother  bore  him.  No  breeches  on  him, 
no  orders,  no  pockets,  nothing.  Imagine  men  with- 
out pockets.  Queer,  isn't  it?  Yes  indeed,  brother, 
the  ikon  is  only  the  beginning. 


f>s  BAW4  |  A, 

KONPKA  I  V 

Oh,  they  'II  make  new  ones. 

SAVVA 

But  they  won't  be  the  same  as  before.  And  they  '11 
never  forget  this  much  —  that  dynamite  is  mightier 
than  their  (Jod,  and  that  man  is  mightier  than  dyna- 
mite. Look  at  them;  see  them  yonder  praying  and 
knee-ling,  not  daring  to  raise  their  heads  and  look 
you  straight  in  the  face,  mean  slaves  that  they  arc! 
Then  comes  a  real  man,  and  smash  goes  the  whole 
humbug.  Done  for! 

KONDRATY 

Really ! 

8AVVA 

And  when  a  dozen  of  their  idols  have  gone  the  same 
way,  the  slaves  will  begin  to  understand  that  the 
kingdom  of  their  God  is  at  an  end.  and  that"  tin- 
kingdom  of  man  has  come.  Lots  of  them  will  drop 
from  sheer  terror.  Some  will  h»e  their  wits,  and 
others  will  throw  themselves  into  the  fire.  They  '11 
that  Antichrist  has  come.  Think  of  it,  Kon- 
draty ! 

KOXDRATY 

And  aren't  you  sorry  for  them? 
SAW  A 

Sorry  for  them?  Why,  they  built  a  prison  for  me, 
and  I  am  to  be  sorry  for  them.  They  put  me  in  a 
torture  chamber,  and  I  am  to  be  sorry  for  them. 
Bah ! 

KOXDRATY 

Who  are  you  to  be  above  pity? 

8AVVA 

I?     I  am  a  man  who  have  been  born.     And  having 


ACT  n]  SAVVA  69 

been  born,  I  began  to  look  about.  I  saw  churches 
and  penitentiaries.  I  saw  universities  and  houses  of 
prostitution.  I  saw  factories  and  picture  galleries. 
I  saw  palaces  and  filthy  dens.  I  calculated  the  num- 
ber of  prisons  there  are  to  each  gallery,  and  I  re- 
solved that  the  whole  edifice  must  go,  the  whole  of  it 
must  be  overturned,  annihilated.  And  we  are  going 
to  do  it.  Our  day  of  reckoning  has  come.  It  is 
time. 

KONDRATY 

Who  are  "we"? 

SAVVA 

I,  you  Kondraty,  and  others. 

KONDRATY 

The  people  are  stupid.     They  won't  understand. 
SAVVA 

When  the  conflagration  rages  all  around  them,  they 
will  understand.  Fire  is  a  good  teacher,  old  boy. 
Have  you  ever  heard  of  Raphael? 

KONDRATY 

No,  I  have  n't. 
SAVVA 

Well,  when  we  are  through  with  God,  we  '11  go  for 
fellows  like  him.  There  are  lots  of  them  —  Titian, 
Shakespeare,  Byron.  We  '11  make  a  nice  pile  of  the 
whole  lot  and  pour  oil  over  it.  Then  we  '11  burn 
their  cities. 

KONDRATY 

Now,  now  you  are  joking.     How  is  that  possible? 
How  can  you  burn  the  cities? 
SAVVA 

No,  why  should  I  be  joking?  All  the  cities.  Look 
here,  what  are  their  cities?  Graves,  stone  graves. 


70  SAVVA  [ACT  11 

And  if  you  don't  stop  those  fools,  if  you  K  t  them 
go  on  making  more,  they  will  cover  the-  whole  earth 
with  stone,  and  then  all  will  suffocate  —  all. 

KONDRATY 

The  poor  people  will  have  a  hard  time  of  it. 

SAVVA 

All  will  be  poor  then.  What  is  it  that  makes  a  man 
rich?  His  having  a  house  and  money,  and  the  fact 
that  he  has  surrounded  himself  with  a  fence.  But 
when  there  are  no  houses,  no  money,  ahd  no  fences  — 

KONDRATV 

That  *s  so.     And  there  won't  be  any  legal  pa  | 
either,  no  stocks,  no  bonds,  no  title-deeds.    They  will 
all  have  been  burnt  up. 

SAVVA 

No,  there  will  be  no  legal  papers.  It 's  work  then  — 
you  '11  have  to  go  to  work  even  if  you  are  a  nobleman. 

KONDRATY   (laughing) 

It 's  funny.  All  will  be  naked  as  when  coming  out 
of  a  bath. 

SAVVA 

Are  you  a  peasant,  Kondraty? 

KONDRATY 

Yes,  I  am  a  peasant,  sure  enough. 
SAVVA 

I  am  a  peasant  also.  We  have  nothing  to  lose, 
brother.  We  can't  fare  worse  than  we  do  now. 

KONDRATY 

How  could  it  be  worse?  But  a  great  many  people 
will  perish,  Mr.  Tropinin. 

SAVVA 

It  makes  no  difference.  There  '11  be  enough  left.  It 
is  the  good-for-nothings  that  will  perish,  the  fools 


ACT  n]  SAVVA  71 

to  whom  this  life  is  like  a  shell  to  a  crab.  Those 
who  believe  will  perish,  because  their  faith  will  be 
taken  away  from  them.  Those  who  love  the  old  will 
perish,  because  everything  will  be  taken  away  from 
them.  The  weak,  the  sick,  those  who  love  quietness. 
There  will  be  no  quietness  in  the  world,  brother. 
There  will  remain  only  the  free  and  the  brave,  those 
with  young  and  eager  souls  and  clear  eyes  that  can 
embrace  the  whole  universe. 

KONDRATY 

Like  yours?    I  am  afraid  of  your  eyes,  Savva  Yeg- 
orovich,  especially  in  the  dark. 
SAVVA 

Yes,  like  mine.  And  emancipated  from  everything, 
naked,  armed  only  with  their  reason,  they  will  de- 
liberate, discuss,  talk  things  over,  and  build  up  a 
new  life,  a  good  life,  Kondraty,  where  every  man 
may  breathe  freely. 

KONDRATY 

It 's  interesting.  But  men  are  sly  creatures.  Some- 
thing of  the  old  will  be  left  over.  They  '11  hide  it, 
or  try  some  other  trick,  and  then,  behold!  back 
they  slide  to  the  old  again,  everything  just  as  it 
was,  just  as  of  old.  What  then? 

SAVVA 

Just  as  of  old?  (Gloomily)  Then  they  will  have  to 
be  wiped  clean  off  the  face  of  the  earth.  Let  there 
be  no  living  human  being  on  earth.  Enough  of  it! 

KONDRATY  (shaking  his  head) 
But- 

SAVVA  (putting  his  hand  on  his  shoulder) 

Believe  me,  monk,  I  have  been  in  many  cities  and  in 
many  lands.  Nowhere  did  I  see  a  free  man.  I  saw 


72  SAWA  [ACT  n 

onlv  >la\cs.  I  saw  tlu-  cages  in  uliich  they  live,  the 
IK ds  on  which  t!ic\  an-  Imni  ami  die;  I  saw  their 
hatreds  and  their  loves,  tlu-ir  sins  and  their  good 
\\ork-.  And  I  saw  also  their  amusements,  their  piti- 
ful attempts  to  bring  dead  joy  back  to  life  again. 
And  everything  that  I  saw  bore  the  .stamp  of 
sttrpidity  and  unreason.  He  that  is  born  wise  turns 
stupid  in  their  midst;  he  that  is  born  cheerful  hangs 
himself  from  boredom  and  sticks  out  his  tongn 
them.  Amidst  the  flowers  of  the  beautiful  earth  — 
you  lia\e  no  idea  how  beautiful  the  earth  is,  monk 
—  they  have  erected  insane  asylums.  And  what  are 
they  doing  with  their  children?  I  have  never  yet 
seen  parents  that  do  not  deserve  capital  punishment; 
first  because  they  begot  children,  and  secondly  be- 
cause, having  begot  them,  they  did  not  immediately 
commit  suicide. 

KONDRATY 

Good   heavens,   how  you    talk!      Hearing  you,   one 
hardly  knows  what  to  think. 
SAWA 

And  how  they  lie,  how  they  lie,  monk !  They  don't 
kill  the  truth  —  no,  they  kick  her  and  bruise  her 
daily,  and  smear  her  clean  face  with  their  dirt  and 
filth  so  that  no  one  may  recognize  her,  so  that  the 
children  may  not  love  her,  and  so  that  she  may  ha\«- 
no  refuge.  In  all  the  world  —  yes,  monk,  in  all  the 
world  —  there  is  no  place  for  truth.  (Sinks  into 
meditation.  Pause) 

KONDRATY 

Is  there  no  other  way  —  without  fire?    It 's  terrible, 
\i  Vegorovich.     Consider  what  it  means!     It's 
the  end  of  the  world. 


ACT  n]  SAVVA  73 

SAVVA 

No,  it  can't  be  helped,  partner.  It  must  be.  The 
end  of  the  world  must  come  too.  They  were  treated 
with  medicine,  and  it  did  no  good.  They  were 
treated  with  iron,  and  it  did  no  good.  Now  they 
must  be  treated  with  fire  —  fire ! 
[Pause.  Lightning  flashes.  The  thunder  has  ceased. 
Somewhere  outside  a  watchman  can  be  heard  striking 
his  iron  rod. 

KONDRATY 

And  there  '11  be  no  drinkshops  either? 
SAVVA   (pensively) 
No,  nothing. 

KONDRATY 

They  '11  start  drinkshops  again  all  right. 

along    without    them,    you    know.      (A 

pause)    Ye-es.    What  are  you  thinking  about,  Savva 

Yegorovich? 
SAVVA 

Nothing.     (Draws  a  light  breath,  cheerfully)     Well, 

Kondraty,  shall  we  begin? 
KONDRATY  (swaying  his  head  to  and  fro) 

It 's  a  mighty  hard  problem  you  have  put  up  to  me. 

It 's  a  poser. 

SAVVA 

Never  mind,  don't  get  shaky  now.  You  are  a  sensi- 
ble man;  you  know  it  can't  be  helped;  there  is 
nothing  else  to  do.  Would  I  be  doing  it  myself,  if 
it  were  not  necessary?  You  can  see  that,  can't  you? 
KONDRATY  (heaving  a  sigh) 

Ye-es,  hm  !  Why,  Mr.  Tropinin  —  why,  my  dear 
fellow  —  don't  I  know,  don't  I  understand  it  all? 
It 's  a  rotten,  cursed  life !  Ah,  Mr.  Savva,  Mr. 


74  SAVVA  [ACT  n 

Savva  —  look  here.  If  I  were  to  tell  anyone  tli.it 
I  am  a  good  man,  they'd  laugh  and  say:  "What 
are  you  lying  for,  you  drunkard?"  Kondratv  a 
good  nmn !  It  sounds  like  a  joke  even  to  myself. 
And  yet  I  swear  to  you,  by  God,  I  am  a  good  man ! 
I  don't  know  how  it  happened  the  way  it  did,  why  I 
am  what  I  am  now.  I  lived  and  lived,  and  suddenly  ' 
How  it  came  about,  what  the  reason  of  it  is,  I  don't 
know. 

SAVVA 

And  you  are  still  afraid? 

KONDRATY 

What  am  I  now?    I  am  neither  a  candle  for  God  nor 
a   poker   for   the   devil.      Sometimes   when    I   think 
matters  over  —  ah,  Mr.  Savva,  do  you  think  I  have 
no  conscience?     Don't  I  understand?     I  understand 
everything  but  —  I  am  not  really  afraid  of  the  devil 
either.     I  am  just  playing  the  fool.     The  devil  - 
nonsense!     If  you  were  in  the  place  of  us  in  tl 
you  would  understand.     Not  long  ago,  when  I 
drunk,  I  cried:  "  Get  out,  devil  —  out  of  my  way  — 
I  am  a  desperate  man!  "    I  don't  care  for  anything. 
I  don't  care  if  I  die.     I  am  ready.     You  have  worked 
at  me,  Mr.   Savva,  until   I  have  grown  quite  soft. 
(Wipes  his  eyes  with  his  sleeves) 
SAVVA 

Why  should  you  die?  I  don't  want  to  die  cither. 
We  are  going  to  live  for  some  time  to  come,  we  are. 
How  old  are  you? 

EONDHATY 

Forty-two. 

SAVVA 

Just  the  right  age. 


ACT  n]  SAVVA  75 

KONDRATY 

I   am   sorry   for   the   ikon.      They   say  it   appeared 
miraculously  in  the  river,  and  that 's  how  it  came  to 
be  here. 
SAVVA 

Nonsense.  Don't  waste  your  feelings.  It 's  sup- 
posed to  be  a  wonder-working  ikon  and  has  n't  one 
miracle  to  its  credit.  Why,  it  makes  one  feel  like 
a  fool  just  to  say  it. 

KONDRATY 

They  say  it  has  been  replaced  by  the  devil,  so  that 
it  is  n't  the  real  one. 
SAVVA 

So  much  the  better.  And  yet  you  crack  your  heads 
in  front  of  it  and  fool  the  people  about  it.  There  is 
no  use  wasting  words,  my  friend.  It 's  agreed 
then. 

KONDRATY 

You  have  to  go  now.     The  gate  will  soon  be  closed. 
And  all  of  a  sudden  — 
SAVVA 

What  "  all  of  a  sudden  "? 

KONDRATY 

And  all  of  a  sudden  I  '11  be  going  to  the  ikon,  and  it 
will    strike   me    down    with   lightning   and    thunder. 
Won't  it? 
SAVVA  (laughing) 

Don't  be  afraid.  It  won't  strike  you.  That 's  what 
everybody  thinks.  They  are  all  afraid  they  '11  be 
struck  by  lightning  and  thunder.  But  it  won't 
happen.  Believe  me,  a  man  may  blow  up  the  ikon 
and  no  lightning  will  strike  him.  Do  you  need 
money  ? 


76  >  AWA  [ACT  u 

KONDKATY 

1 1 ,i\r  you  got  any? 

8AVVA 
I    ll 
KONDR ATY    ( SUSplciOUsly) 

\Vherc  did  you  get  it? 

>\VVA 

What  bu>ine>s   is  that  of  yours?     Suppose  I  killed 
a  rich  man,  or  cut  somebody's  throat  —  are  you  go- 
ing to  report  me  to  the  police? 
KONDUATY  (reassured) 

What  are  you  thinking  of,  Savva  Vc^orovicli? 
That's  your  concern.  As  to  your  offer,  of  con. 
money  always  comes  in  handy.  It  will  enable 
to  leave  the  monastery.  I  '11  tell  you  in  confidence, 
I  have  long  been  nursing  a  scheme  —  it 's  my  dream 
—  to  settle  somewhere  along  the  road  and  start  an 
inn.  I  like  company.  I  am  a  talkative  chap  my- 
self. I  know  I  '11  succeed.  It  does  n't  hurt  a  host, 
to  have  a  drink  now  and  then.  The  guests  like  it. 
With  a  jolly  host  you  '11  spend  every  penny  you 
have,  and  your  pants  besides,  and  you  won't  notice 
it.  I  know  by  personal  experience. 

8AVVA 

Why  not?    You  can  start  an  inn  if  you  want  to. 

KOXDRATV 

And  besides,  I  am  still  in  the  full  vigor  of  manhood. 
Instead  of  sinning  here,  I'd  rather  get  legally 
married. 

8AVVA 

Don't  forget  to  invite  me  to  the  wedding.  I  '11  act 
as  your  godfather. 


ACT  n]  SAVVA  77 

KONDRATY 

You  are  too  young.     As  to  the  money  — when  shall 

it  be,  before  or  after? 
SAVVA 

Judas  got  his  before. 
KONDRATY  (off  ended) 

There  now,  when  you  should  be  doing  your  best  to 

persuade  me,  you  call  me  Judas.     It  is  n't  pleasant. 

The  idea  of  calling  a  living  man  Judas ! 
SAVVA 

Judas  was   a   fool.     He  hanged  himself.     You  are 

going  to  start  an  inn. 

KONDRATY 

Again?     If  that 's  what  you  think  of  me  — 
SAVVA  {slapping  his  shoulders) 

Well,  well,  uncle,  don't  you  see  I  'm  joking?     Judas 
betrayed  a  man,  and  you  are  not  going  to  betray 
anything  but  lumber.     Is  that  right,  old  man? 
[Speransky  and   Tony  appear,   the  latter  walking 
very  unsteadily. 

KONDRATY 

There  —  brought  by  the  devil!     With  us  carrying 
on  this  kind  of  conversation,  and  they  — 
SAVVA 

It 's  agreed  then? 

KONDRATY 

Oh,  you  're  too  much  for  me. 

SPERANSKY    (bowing) 

Good  evening  once  more,  Mr.  Savva  Tropinin.  Mr. 
Anthony  and  myself  have  just  been  at  the  other  end, 
in  the  cemetery.  A  woman  was  buried  there  to-day, 
so  we  wanted  to  have  a  look. 


78  SAVVA  [ACT   n 

SAVVA 

To  see  if  she  hadn't  crawled  out  of  her  grave? 
What  arc  you  dragging  him  along1  with  you  for? 
Tony,  go  to  bed,  you  can't  stand  on  your  feet. 

TONY 

I  won't  go. 

SPERANSKY 

Tony  is  very  excited  to-day.  He  sees  all  kinds  of 
faces. 

8AVVA 

Funny  faces? 

TO\V 

Yes,  funny.     What  else  can  you  expect?     (Sadly) 
Your  face,  Savva,  is  very,  very  funny. 
SAVVA 

All  right,  go  along  with  you !  Take  him  home. 
What  are  you  dragging  him  about  with  you  for? 

SPERANSKY 

Good-bye.     Come  along,  Mr.  Anthony. 
[Speransky  goes  out.     Tony  follows  him,  looking 
back   at   Sarra,    and    stumbling   as   he  goes    along. 
They  disappear  in  the  dark. 

KONDRATY 

It 's  time  for  us  also  to  be  going.     Have  you  got 
that  money  at  hand? 
SAVVA 

Yes,  I  have.  Now  listen.  Sunday  is  the  feast-day. 
You  are  to  take  the  machine  Saturday  morning  and 
plant  it  at  night  at  half  past  eleven,  four  days  from 
now.  I  '11  show  you  how  to  do  it  and  everything  t •!-'• 
that 's  necessary.  Four  days  more.  I  am  sick  of 
staying  in  this  place. 


ACT  n]  SAVVA  79 

KONDRATY 

And  suppose  I  betray  you? 
SAVVA  (darkly) 
Then  I  'd  kill  you. 

KONDRATY 

Good  heavens! 

SAVVA 

Now  I  am  going  to  kill  you  if  you  merely  try  to 
back  out.  You  know  too  much,  brother. 

KONDRATY 

You  are  joking. 
SAVVA 

Maybe  I  am  joking.  I  am  such  a  jolly  fellow.  I 
like  to  laugh. 

KONDRATY 

When  you  first  came  here,  you  were  gay.  Tell  me, 
Mr.  Savva  (looking  around  cautiously),  did  you  ever 
kill  a  man,  a  real  live  man? 

SAVVA 

I  did.  I  cut  the  throat  of  that  rich  business  man  I 
told  you  about. 

KONDRATY  (waving  his  hand) 

Now  I  see  that  you  are  joking.  Well,  good-bye,  I 
am  going.  Don't  you  hang  around  here  either.  The 
gate  will  soon  be  closed.  Oh,  my  —  I  am  never 
afraid  —  but  just  as  soon  as  I  begin  to  think  of  the 
hall,  it 's  awful.  There  are  shadows  there  now. 
Good  night. 

SAVVA 

Good  night. 

[Kondraty   disappears    in    the    dark.      Lightning. 

Savva  remains  leaning  on  the  railing  to  stare  at  the 


80  SAVVA  [ACT  H 


,'<•  tonilmtonf.i  tliat  tire  momentarily  revealed  by 
the  flashes   of  iujhtmmj. 
SAVVA  (to  the  fjrtivet) 

Well,  you  dead  ones,  arc  you  going  to  turn  over  in 
your  graves  or  not?     For  some  reason  I  don't  fi-i-1 
very  cheerful  —  oh,  ye  dead  —  I  don't  feel  the  1< 
bit  cheerful.      (Light  niny) 

CURTAIN 


THE    THIRD   ACT 

A  festively  decorated  room  with  three  windows  to  the 
street.  One  window  is  open,  but  the  curtain  is  drawn. 
An  open  door,  painted  dark,  leads  mto  the  room  seen 
in  the  first  act. 

It  is  night  and  dark.  Through  the  windows  can  be 
heard  the  ^continuous  tramp  of  the  pilgrims  on  their 
way  to  the  monastery  for  the  next  day's  celebration. 
Some  are  barefoot;  some  wear  boots  or  bast  shoes. 
Their  steps  are  quick  and  eager,  or  slow  and  weary. 
They  walk  singly  or  in  groups  of  two  or  three,  the 
majority  in  silence,  though  now  and  then  suppressed, 
indistinct  talking  may  be  heard.  Starting  from  some- 
where far  off  to  the  left,  the  sound  of  the  footsteps  and 
the  talking,  muffled  at  first,  approaches  and  grows 
louder,  until  at  times  it  seems  to  fill  the  whole  room. 
Then  it  dies  away  in  the  distance  again.  The  im- 
pression is  that  of  some  tremendous  movement,  elemen- 
tal and  irrepressible. 

At  the  table,  lighted  only  by  a  flickering  stump  of 
a  tallow  candle,  sit  Speransky  and  Tony.  The  latter 
is  very  drunk.  Cucumbers,  herrmg,  and  bottles  of 
whiskey  are  on  the  table.  The  rest  of  the  room  is  en- 
tirely dark.  Occasionally  the  wind  blows  the  white  cur- 
tain at  the  window  and  sets  the  candle  flame  tossing. 

Tony  and  Speransky  talk  in  whispers.  A  prolonged 
pause  follows  the  rise  of  the  curtam. 


82  SAVVA  [ACT  m 

TONY  (bending  over  to  Sperantky,  mysteriously) 
So  you  say  it  is  possible  we  do  not  c-xM,  <  h.' 

SPERANSKY  (In  the  tame  manner) 

As  I  have  already  stated,  it  is  doubtful,  extremely 
doubtful.  There  is  very  good  reason  to  suppose 
that  we  really  do  not  exist  —  that  we  don't  exist 
at  all. 

TONY 

And  you  are  not,  and  I  am  not. 

SPERANSKY 

And  you  are  not,  and  I  am  not.    No  one  is.    (Pause) 
TONY  (looking  around,  mysteriously) 

Where  are  we  then? 
SPERANSKY 

We? 

TONY 

Yes,  we. 

SPERANSKY 

That 's  something  no  one  can  tell.     No  one  knows, 
Anthony. 
TONY 
No  one? 

SPERANSKY 

No  one. 

TONY  (glancing  around) 
Does  n't  Sawa  know? 

SPERANSKY 

No,  Sawa  does  n't  know  either. 
TONY 

Sawa  knows  everything. 

SPERANSKY 

But  even  he  does  n't  know  that. 


ACT  in]  SAVVA  83 

TONY  (threatening  with  his  finger) 

Keep  still,  keep  still!     (Both  look  around  and  are 

silent ) 
TONY  (mysteriously} 

Where  are  they  going,  eh? 

SPEBANSKY 

To  the  elevation  of  the  ikon.    To-morrow  is  a  feast- 
day  —  the  day  of  raising  the  ikon. 
TONY 

No,  I  mean  where  are  they  really  going  —  really  — 
don't  you  understand? 

SPERANSKY 

I  do.     It  is  n't  known.     No  one  knows,  Anthony. 
TONY 

Hush!     (Makes  a  funny  grimace,  closes  his  mouth 

with  his  hand  and  leans  on  it) 
SPERANSKY  (in  a  whisper) 

What 's  the  matter? 
TONY 

Keep  quiet,  keep  quiet.  Listen.   (Both  are  listening) 
TONY  (in  a  whisper) 

Those  are  faces. 

SPERANSKY 

Yes? 

TONY 

It 's  faces  that  are  going.     A  lot  of  faces  —  can't 

you  see  them? 
SPERANSKY  (staring) 

No,  I  can't. 
TONY 

But  I  can.    There  they  are,  laughing.    Why  are  n't 

you  laughing,  eh? 


84  SAW  A  [ACT  ra 

-KY 

I  fnl  \i-rv  despondent. 

1  i  ugh.  You  must  laugh.  Everybody  is  laughing. 
Hush,  hush!  (Pause)  Listen,  nobody  exists,  no- 
body —  do  you  understand?  There  is  no  God,  there 
is  no  man,  there  are  no  animals.  Here  is  the  table  — 
it  doesn't  exist.  Hen-  is  the  candle  —  it  doesn't 
•  •xist.  The  only  things  that  exist  are  faces  —  you 
understand?  Keep  quiet,  keep  quiet.  I  am  very 
much  afraid. 

SPEBAXSKY 

What  are  you  afraid  of? 

TONY  (bending  near  to  Speransky) 
That  I  '11  die  of  laughter. 

SPKRANSKY 

Really? 
TONY  (shaking  his  head  affirm  nthrJi/) 

Yes,  that  I  '11  die  of  laughter.  I  am  afraid  that 
dome  day  I  '11  catch  sight  of  a  face  which  will  send 
me  off  roaring  with  laughter;  and  I  '11  roar  and  roar 
until  I  die.  Keep  quiet.  I  know. 

8PERANSKV 

You  never  laugh. 

I  am  always  laughing,  but  you  don't  see  it.  It  's 
nothing.  The  only  thing  I  am  afraid  is  that  I  '11  die. 
I  '11  come  across  a  face  one  of  these  days  which  will 
start  me  off  in  a  fit  of  laughter,  and  I  '11  laugh  and 
laugh  and  laugh  and  won't  be  able  to  stop.  Yes,  if  "s 
coming,  it 's  coming.  (  Wipes  his  chest  and  neck) 

8PERANSKV 

The  dead  know  everything. 


ACT  m]  SAVVA  85 

TONY  (mysteriously,  with  awe) 

I  am  afraid  of  Savva's  face.  It 's  a  very  funny  face. 
One  could  die  laughing  over  it.  The  point  is  that 
you  can't  stop  laughing  —  that 's  the  principal 
thing.  You  laugh  and  laugh  and  laugh.  Is  there 
nobody  here? 

SPERANSKY 

Apparently  no. 

TONY 

Keep  quiet,  keep  quiet,  I  know.  Keep  quiet.  (Pause; 
the  tramp  of  the  pilgrim's  footsteps  grows  louder, 
as  if  they  were  walking  in  the  very  room  itself) 
Are  they  going? 

SPERANSKY 

Yes,  they  are  going.     (Pause) 
TONY 

I  like  you.    Sing  me  that  song  of  yours.     I  '11  listen. 

SPERANSKY 

With  your  permission,  Anthony.  (Sings  in  an  un- 
dertone, almost  in  a  whisper,  a  dismal,  long-drawn- 
out  tune  somewhat  resembling  a  litany) 

Life  's  a  sham,  't  is  false,  untrue, 
Death  alone  is  true,  aye,  true. 

(With  increasing  caution  and  pedantry,  shaking  his 
finger  as  if  imparting  a  secret) 

All  things  tumble,  vanish,  break, 
Death  is  sure  to  overtake 
Outcast,  tramp,  and  tiniest  fly 
Unperceived  by  naked  eye. 
TONY 
What? 


88  SAVVA  [ACT  m 

8PEKAN8KT 

Unperceived  by  naked  eye, 
Wheedling,  coaxing,  courting,  wooing, 
Death  weds  all  to  their  undoing 
And  the  myth  of  life  is  ended. 

That 's  all,  Anthony. 

TONY 

Keep  still,  keep  still.     You  have  sung  your  song  — 

now  keep  quiet. 

[Li pa  enter i,  opens  the  window,  removes  the  flowers, 

and  looks  out  into  the  street.     Then  she  lights  the 

lamp. 
TONY 

Who  is  it?     Is  that  you,  Lipa?     Lipa,  eh,  Lipa, 

where  are  they  going? 
LIPA 

They  are  coming  here  for  the  feast-day.     You  had 

better  go  to  bed,  Tony,  or  father  will  see  you  and 

scold  you. 

SPERANSKY 

Big  crowds,  aren't  they? 

LIPA 

Yes.  But  it  's  so  dark,  you  can't  see.  Why  are  you 
so  pale,  Mr.  Speransky?  It  is  positively  painful  to 
look  at  you. 

SPERANSKY 

That  's  how  I  feel,  Miss  Lipa. 

[ .-/  cautious  knock  is  heard  at  the  window. 
LIPA  (opening  the  window) 

Who  is  there? 
TONY  ( to  Speransky) 

Keep  quiet,  keep  quiet. 


ACT  m]  SAVVA  87 

YOUNG  FRIAR  (thrusting  his  smiling  face  through  the 
window)  Is  Savva  Yegorovich  in?  I  wanted  to  ask 
him  to  come  with  me  to  the  woods. 

LIPA 

No.  Aren't  you  ashamed  of  yourself,  Vassya?  To- 
morrow is  a  big  feast-day  in  your  monastery  and 
you  — 

YOUNG  FRIAR  (smiling) 

There  are  plenty  of  people  in  the  monastery  without 
me.  Please  tell  Mr.  Savva  that  I  have  gone  to  the 
ravine  to  catch  fireflies.  Ask  him  to  call  out: 
"Ho,  ho!" 

LIPA 

What  do  you  want  fireflies  for? 

YOUNG   FRIAR 

Why,  to  scare  the  monks  with.     I  '11  put  two  fire- 
flies next  to  each  other  like  eyes,  and  they  '11  think 
it 's  the  devil.     Tell  him,  please,  to  call :    "  Ho,  ho, 
ho!"     (He  disappears  in  the  darkness) 
LIPA  (shouting  after  him) 

He  can't  come  to-day.  (To  Speransky)  Gone  al- 
ready —  ran  off. 

SPERANSKY 

They  buried  three  in  the  cemetery  to-day,  Miss 
Olympiada. 

LIPA 

Have  you  seen  Sawa? 

SPERANSKY 

No,  I  am  sorry  to  say  I  have  n't.    I  say,  they  buried 
three  people  to-day.     One  old  man  —  perhaps  you 
knew  him  —  Peter  Khvorostov? 
LIPA 

Yes,  I  knew  him.     So  he  's  dead? 


88  SAW  A  [AC  .    .„ 

-KY 

Yes,  and  two  children.     The  women  wept  a  gn.it 
deal. 
UFA 

What  did  they  die  of? 

SPER.\N>KY 

I  am  sorry,  but  I  don't  know.  It  did  n't  interest  me. 
Some  children's  disease,  I  suppose.  When  children 
die,  Miss  Olympiada,  they  turn  all  blue  and  look  as 
if  they  wanted  to  cry.  The  faces  of  grown  people 
are  tranquil,  but  children's  faces  are  not.  Why  is 
that  so? 
LIPA 

I  don't  know  —  I  've  never  noticed  it. 

8PER AXSKV 

It  's  a  very  interesting  phenomenon. 
LIPA 

There  's  father  now.    I  told  you  to  go  to  bed.     Now 

I  've  got  to  listen  to  your  brawling.     I  '11  get  out. 

(Exit.     Enter  Yegor  Tropinin) 
YEGOR 

Who  lighted  the  lamp? 

8PERAXSKY 

Good  evening,  Mr.  Tropinin. 
YEGOR 

Good  evening.     Who  lighted  the  lamp? 

8PERAXSKY 

Miss  Olympiada. 
TEGOR  (bJorcing  it  out) 

Learned  it  from  Sawa.  (To  Tony)  And  you, 
what's  the  matter  with  you?  How  long,  how  long, 
for  Christ's  sake!  How  long  am  I  to  stand  all  this 


ACT  m]  SAVVA  89 

from    you,    you     good-for-nothing    loafers?       Eh? 

Where  did  you  get  the  whiskey,  eh? 
TONY 

At  the  bar. 
YEGOR 

It  was  n't  put  there  for  you,  was  it?     • 
TONY 

You  have  a  very  funny  face,  father. 

YEGOR 

Give  me  the  whiskey. 
TONY 
I  won't. 

YEGOR 

Give  here! 

TONY 
I  won't. 

YEGOR  (slaps  his  face) 
Give  it  to  me,  I  say. 

TONY  (falls  on  the  sofa,  still  holding  on  to  the  bottle) 
I  won't. 

YEGOR  (sitting  down,  calmly) 

All  right,  swill  until  you  bust,  devil.  What  was  I 
saying?  That  fool  put  it  out  of  my  head.  Oh  yes, 
the  pilgrims  are  going  it  strong  this  time.  It 's  been 
a  bad  year  for  the  crops.  That 's  another  reason, 
I  suppose.  There  's  no  grub,  they  have  nothing  to 
eat,  and  so  they  '11  pray.  If  God  listened  to  every 
fool's  prayer,  we  'd  have  a  fine  time  of  it.  If  he 
listened  to  every  fool,  what  chance  would  the  wise 
man  have?  A  fool  remains  a  fool.  That 's  why  he 
is  called  a  fool. 

SPERANSKY 

That 's  correct. 


90  SAVVA  [ACT  m 

•  OR 

I  should  say   it   is  correct.      Father   Pnrfeny  is   a 
smart   man.     He  flim-flams  thi-m  all  right.     He  put 
up  a  new  coffin  —  did  you  hear  that?     The  old  one 
has  all  been  eaten  away  by  the  pilgrims,  so  he  put  a 
new  one  into  its  place.     It  was  old,  so  he  put  a  new 
one  instead.    They  '11  eat  that  one  away.    No  matter 
what   you   give  them —     Tony,  are  you  drinking 
again? 
TONY 
I  am. 

YEGOR 

I  am !  I  am !  I  '11  hand  you  out  another  one  in  a 
moment  and  we  '11  see  what  you  say  then. 
[Enter  Savva,  looking  very  gay  and  lively.  He 
stoops  less  than  usual,  talks  rapidly,  and  looks  sharp 
and  straight,  but  his  gaze  does  not  rest  long  on  the 
same  person  or  object. 

8AWA 

Ah,  the  philosophers!  Father!  A  worthy  assem- 
blage. Why  do  you  keep  it  so  dark  here,  like  some 
hell-hole  with  a  lot  of  rats  in  it?  A  philosopher  has 
to  have  light.  The  dark  is  good  only  for  going 
through  people's  pockets.  Where  is  the  lamp?  Oh, 
here  it  is.  (He  lights  the  lamp) 

YEGOR   (ironically) 

Perhaps  you  '11  open  the  windows  too? 

SAVVA 

Quite  right.  I'll  open  the  windows  also.  (Opens 
them)  My,  how  they  keep  pouring  in! 

SPERANSKY 

A  whole  army. 


ACT  m]  SAVVA  91 

SAVVA 

And  all  of  them  will  die  in  time  and  acquire  peace. 
And  then  they  '11  know  the  truth,  for  it  never  comes 
except  in  the  society  of  worms.  Have  I  got  the 
essence  of  your  optimistic  philosophy  down  right, 
my  thin,  lean  friend? 

SPERANSKY  (with  a  sigh) 
You  are  always  joking. 

SAVVA 

And  you  are  always  moping.  Look  here  now.  What 
with  the  poor,  scanty  fare  the  deacon's  wife  doles 
out  to  you  and  your  constant  grieving,  you  will  soon 
die,  and  then  your  face  will  assume  an  expression  of 
perfect  peace.  A  peaked  nose,  and  all  around, 
stretching  in  every  direction,  a  vast  expanse  of  peace. 
Can't  you  get  some  comfort  out  of  that  ?  Is  n't  it 
a  consolation  to  you?  Think  of  it,  a  tiny  island  of 
nose  lapped  in  an  ocean  of  peace. 

SPERANSKY   (dejectedly) 
You  are  still  joking. 

SAVVA 

The  idea !  Who  would  joke  about  death?  No,  when 
you  die,  I  '11  follow  your  funeral  and  proclaim  to 
all :  "  Behold,  here  is  a  man  who  has  come  to  know 
the  truth."  Oh  no,  I  '11  rather  hang  you  up  as  a 
banner  of  truth.  And  the  more  your  skin  and  flesh 
decompose  and  crumble,  the  more  will  the  truth  come 
out.  It  will  be  a  most  instructive  object  lesson, 
highly  educative.  Tony,  why  are  you  staring  at  me  ? 

TONY  (sadly) 

You  have  a  very  funny  face. 

YEGOE 

What  are  they  talking  about? 


92  SAVVA  [AC,    m 

SAWA 

Father,  whnt  's  the  matter  with  your  face?     Have 
you  sooted  it?     It  looks  as  black  as  Satan's, 
i  i  i  <>R  (tjtiit'kly  putting  his  hand  to  his  face) 
Where? 

SPERAXSKY 

They  are  just  making  fun.  There  is  nothing  on 
your  face,  Mr.  Tropinin. 

VI  (JOB 

The  fool!  Satan?  You  are  Satan  yourself,  God 
forgive  me! 

SAVVA  (making  a  terrible  face  and  holding  up  his  fingers 
in  the  shape  of  horns)     I  am  the  de\il. 

TEGOE 

By  God,  you  are  the  very  devil  himself! 

SAVVA   (glancing  round  the  room) 

Isn't  the  devil  going  to  get  any  dinner  to-day?  I 
have  had  all  I  want  of  sinners.  I  am  surfeited  with 
them.  I  should  like  to  have  something  more  appe- 
tizing now. 

YEGOR 

Where  were  you  knocking  about  at  the  regular  din- 
ner hour?     You  '11  have  to  do  without  dinner  now. 
SAVVA 

I  was  with  the  children,  father,  with  the  children. 
They  told  me  stories.  They  tell  stories  splendidly, 
and  they  were  all  about  devils,  witches,  and  the  dead 
—  your  specialty,  philosopher.  They  trembled  with 
fear  as  they  told  them.  That 's  why  we  stayed  so 
long.  They  were  afraid  to  go  home.  Misha  was  the 
only  one  who  was  n't  scared.  He  is  a  brick.  He  's 
afraid  of  nothing. 


ACT  m]  SAVVA  93 

SPERANSKY    (indifferently) 
What  of  it?    He  '11  die  too. 

SAVVA 

My  dear  sir,  don't  be  so  funereal.  You  are  like  an 
undertakers'  trust.  Don't  be  forever  croaking: 
"  Die,  die,  die."  Here,  take  my  father,  for  instance. 
He  '11  soon  die  ;  but  look  at  his  face,  how  pleasant 
and  cheerful  it  is. 
YEGOE 

Satan  !     You  're  the  devil  incarnate  ! 

SPERANSKY 

But  since  we  don't  know  — 

SAVVA 

My  good  friend,  life  is  such  an  interesting  business. 
You  understand  —  life.  Come,  let  's  have  a  game  of 
jackstones  to-morrow.  I  '11  provide  the  jacks,  first- 
class  jacks.  (Enter  Lipa,  unnoticed)  And  then 
you  should  take  gymnastic  exercises.  I  mean  it 
seriously.  See  how  sunken  your  chest  is.  You  '11 
choke  of  consumption  in  a  year  or  so.  The  dea- 
coness will  be  glad,  but  it  will.  create  consternation 
among  the  dead.  Seriously  now.  I  have  taken  gym- 
nastic exercises.  Look.  (He  lifts  a  heavy  chair 
easily  by  the  leg)  There,  you  see! 

LIPA  (laughing  aloud) 
Ha,  ha,  ha  ! 

SAVVA  (putting  the  chair  down,  with  a  touch  of  em- 
barrassment) What's  the  matter?  I  didn't  know 
you  were  here. 


You  ought  to  join  the  circus  as  an  acrobat. 
SAVVA  (glumly) 

Don't  talk  nonsense. 


94  SAWA  [ACT  in 

LI  PA 

Are  you  offended? 

SAVVA  (tuddcnli/  bursting  into  a  good-natnrcd,  mrrrii 
laugh)  Oh,  a  trifle!  All  right,  the  circus,  why  not? 
We  '11  both  join  it,  Speransky  and  I.  Not  as  acro- 
bats though,  but  as  clowns.  How  about  it?  Can 
you  swallow  hot  junk?  No?  Well,  I  '11  teach  you. 
As  for  you,  Lipa,  won't  you  please  let  me  have 
something  to  eat?  I  haven't  had  anything  since 
this  morning. 

YEGOR 

A  regular  Satan,  a  regular  Satan !  Has  n't  had 
anything  to  eat!  Who  has  ever  heard  of  eating  at 
this  hour  of  the  night?  Who  has  ever  seen  such  a 
thing? 

SAVVA 

I  '11  give  you  a  chance  to  see  it  now.  It 's  very  in- 
teresting. Wait,  I  '11  teach  you  also  how  to  swallow 
hot  junk.  I  '11  make  you  an  expert.  You  '11  be  a 
wonder. 

YEGOR 

Me?  Fool,  you  can't  teach  me  anything  any  more. 
Tony,  give  me  the  whiskey. 

TONY 

I  won't. 

YEGOR 

The  devil  take  you  all !  Brought  up  and  fed  a  lot 
of-  (Exit) 

LIPA  (handing  him  milk  and  dark  bread) 
You  seem  to  be  happy  to-night? 

SAVVA 

Yes,  I  am,  and  you  are  happy  too. 


ACT  in]  SAVVA  95 

UFA  (laughing) 

I  am. 
SAVVA 

And  I  am  happy.     (He  drinks  the  milk  with  avidity; 

the  footsteps  in  the  street  grow  louder,  filing  the 

room  with   their  sound,  and  then  die  away  again) 

What  a  treading  and  a  tramping! 
LIPA  (looking  out  of  the  window) 

The  weather  will  be  fine  to-morrow.     As  long  as  I 

can    remember    the    sun    has    always    been    shining 

brightly  that  way. 
SAVVA 

Hm,  yes.     That 's  good. 

IJPA 

And  when  they  carry  the  ikon,  it  sparkles  all  over 
with  the  precious  stones  like  fire.  Only  His  face 
remains  gloomy.  All  the  gems  don't  give  him  any 
pleasure.  He  is  sad  and  gloomy  like  the  people's 
woe. 
SAVVA  (coolly) 

Hm,  yes.     Is  that  so? 

1IPA 

Just  think  how  many  tears  have  fallen  upon  Him, 
how  many  sighs  and  groans  He  has  heard!  That 
alone  is  enough  to  make  the  ikon  holy  for  all  who 
love  and  sympathize  with  the  people  and  understand 
their  soul.  Why,  they  have  nobody  except  Christ, 
all  those  unfortunate,  miserable  people.  When  I 
was  a  little  girl,  I  was  always  waiting  for  a  miracle  — 

SAVVA 

It  would  be  interesting. 

LIPA 

But  now  I  understand  that  He  Himself  is  waiting 


96  SAWA  [ACT  m 

for  u  miracle  from  the  people.  He  is  waiting  for 
tin-  people  to  stop  fighting,  hating,  and  destroying 
each  other. 

8AVVA 

Well,  what  of  it? 

IJPA  (fixing  her  gaze  upon  him) 

Nothing.  To-morrow  you  '11  see  for  yourself  when 
they  carry  Him  in  the  procession.  Ypu  '11  sec 
what  effect  the  mere  consciousness  that  He  is  there 
with  them  has  upon  them,  how  it  transforms  them, 
what  it  does  to  them.  The  whole  year  round 
they  live  a  dog's  life,  in  filth,  quarrelling  with  each 
other,  suffering.  On  that  day  all  the  ugliness  seems 
to  vanish.  It  is  an  awful  and  a  joyous  day  when 
suddenly  you  cast  away  from  yourself  all  that  is 
superfluous  and  when  you  feel  so  clearly  your  near- 
ness to  all  the  unfortunates  that  are  and  ever  were, 
and  your  nearness  to  God. 

SAVVA   (abruptly) 
What  time  is  it? 

8PERANSKY 

The  clock  has  just  struck  a  quarter  past  eleven,  if 
I  am  not  mistaken. 
I.IPA 

It 's  still  early. 

SAVVA 

Early  for  what? 

I.I  PA 

Nothing.     It's  still  early,  that's  all. 
SAVVA  (suspiciously) 

What  do  you  mean? 
UPA   (defiantly) 

What  I  mean. 


ACT  in]  SAVVA  97 

SAVVA 

Why  did  you  say  it 's  still  early  ? 
OP  A  (paling) 

Because  it 's  only  a  little  after  eleven ;  but  when  it 's 

twelve  — 
SAVVA  (jumping  up  and  going  to  Tier  quickly;  fixing 

her  with  his  stare,  he  speaks  slowly,  pronouncing 

every  word  separately  and  distinctly)     So?    Is  that 

it?     When  it's  twelve —     (He  turns  to  Speransky 

without  removing  his  eyes  from  Lipa)     Listen,  you 

go  home. 
LIP  A  (frightened) 

No,  stay,  Mr.  Speransky.     Please  stay,  I  beg  you. 
SAVVA 

If  you  don't  go  at  once,  I  '11  throw  you  out  of  the 

window.     Well  ? 

SPERANSKY 

Excuse  me,  I  never  had  the  faintest  idea  —  I  was 
here  with  Mr.  Anthony  Tropinin.  I  am  going  in- 
stantly. Where  is  my  hat?  I  put  it  here  some- 
where — 

SAVVA 

There's  your  hat.     (Throws  it  to  him) 

LIP  A  (feebly) 

Stay  here  awhile  longer,  Mr.  Speransky.     Sit  down. 

SPERANSKY 

No,  it 's  late.  I  must  go  to  bed.  Good  night,  Miss 
Olympiada.  Good  night,  Mr.  Tropinin.  Your 
brother  is  asleep  already,  I  believe.  You  ought  to 
take  him  to  bed.  I  'm  going,  I  'm  going.  (Exit) 
SAVVA  (speaking  in  a  quiet,  calm  tone;  his  movements 
are  heavy  and  slow,  as  if  his  body  had  suddenly 
stiffened)  You  know  it? 


98  SAVVA  [ACT  m 

LIPA 

I  do. 

SAVVA 

You  know  all? 

LIPA 

All. 

SAVVA 

Did  the  monk  tell  you? 
LIPA 
He  did. 

SAVVA 

Well? 

LIPA  (drawing  back  a  little,  and  raiting  lier  hand  for 
protection)  Well,  nothing  will  happen.  Then  '11 
be  no  blowing  up.  You  understand,  Savva,  there  '11 
be  no  explosion. 

[Pause.  Footsteps  are  heard  in  the  street,  and  in- 
distinct talking.  Savua  turns  around.  Stooping 
more  than  usually,  he  takes  a  turn  around  the  room 
with  peculiar  slowness. 

SAVVA 
Well? 

LIPA 

Then  you  had  better  believe  me,  brother.     Believe 
me. 
SAVVA 
Yes? 

LIPA 

Why  that  was  —  I  don't  know  what  it  was  —  it 
was  a  piece  of  madness.  Think  it  over. 

SAWA 

Is  it  really  true? 


ACT  in]  SAVVA  99 

UFA 

Yes,  it 's  true.    It 's  all  over.    You  can't  help  it  any 

more.     There  is  nothing  for  you  to  do. 
SAVVA 

Tell  me  how  it  happened.     (Sits  down  deliberately, 

his  eyes  fixed  on  Lipa) 
UFA 

I  guessed  a  little   something  long  ago  —  that  day 

when  you  spoke  to  me  —  only  I  did  n't  know  exactly 

what  it  was.     And  I  saw  the  little  machine  too.     I 

have  another  key  to  the  trunk. 
SAVVA 

Evidently  you  have  been  cut  out  for  a  spy.     Go  on ! 
UFA 

I  am  not  afraid  of  insults. 
SAVVA 

Never  mind,  never  mind  —  go  on. 
LIPA 

Then  I  saw  that  you  had  frequent  talks  with  that 

fellow  —  Kondraty.      Yesterday    I    looked    in    the 

trunk  again,  and  the  machine  was  n't  there.     So  I 

understood. 
SAVVA 

You  say  you  have  another  key? 
UFA 

Yes.     The   trunk   is   mine,  you  know.     Well,   and 

to-day  — 

SAVVA 

When  to-day? 
UFA 

Toward  evening  —  I  could  n't  find  Kondraty  any- 
where —  I  told  him  that  I  knew  all.  He  got  very 
much  frightened  and  told  me  the  rest. 


100  SAWA  [ACT  in 

8AVVA 

A  worthy  pair  —  spy  and  traitor. 
LI  PA 

If  you  arc  going  to  insult  me,  I  won't  say  anotlirr 

\\orcl. 

8AVVA 

\    MT  mind,  never  mind  —  go  on. 

LI  PA 

He  was  going  to  tell  the  Father  Superior,  but  I 
did  n't  let  him.  I  did  n't  want  to  ruin  you. 

8AVVA 

No? 
UFA 

When  it  was  all  over,  I  understood  what  a  crazy 
scheme  it  was  —  so  crazy  that  I  simply  can't  think 
of  it  as  real.  It  must  have  been  a  nightmare.  It 's 
quite  impossible.  And  I  began  to  feel  sorry  for 
you  — 

8AVVA 

Yes. 

LI  PA 

I  am  sorry  for  you  now  too.  (With  tears)  Sawa, 
darling,  you  are  my  brother.  I  have  rocked  your 
cradle.  My  dear  angel,  what  idea  is  this  you  have 
got  into  your  mind?  Why,  it 's  terrible  —  it 's  mad- 
ness. I  understand  how  hard  it  must  be  for  you  to 
see  how  people  live,  and  so  you  have  resolved  on  a 
desperate  deed.  You  have  always  been  good  and 
kind,  and  so  I  can  understand  you.  Don't  you  think 
it 's  hard  for  me  to  see  this  life?  Don't  you  think 
I  suffer  myself?  Give  me  your  hand. 
SAVVA  (pnshirif/  her  hand  away) 

He  told  you  he  would  go  to  the  Superior? 


ACT  m]  SAVVA  101 

UFA 

But  I  did  n't  let  him. 

SAVVA 

Has  he  got  the  machine? 

IJPA 

He  '11  give  it  back  to  you  to-morrow.  He  was  afraid 
to  give  it  to  me.  Savva  dear,  don't  look  at  me  like 
that.  I  know  it 's  unpleasant  for  you,  but  you  have 
a  lot  of  common  sense.  You  can't  help  seeing  that 
what  you  wanted  to  do  was  an  absurdity,  a  piece  of 
lunacy,  a  vagary  that  can  come  to  one  only  in  one's 
dreams  at  night.  Don't  I  understand  that  life  is 
hard?  Am  I  not  suffering  from  it  myself?  I  under- 
stand even  your  comrades,  the  anarchists.  It 's  not 
right  to  kill  anybody;  but  still  I  understand  them. 
They  kill  the  bad. 

SAVVA 

They  are  not  my  comrades.     I  have  no  comrades. 
UFA 

Are  n't  you  an  anarchist? 
SAVVA 

No. 

LIPA 

What  are  you  then? 

TONY  (raising  his  head) 

They  are  going,  they  are  going.     Do  you  hear? 

SAVVA  (quietly,  but  ominously) 
They  are  going. 

LIPA 

There,  you  see.  Who  is  going?  Think  of  it.  It 's 
human  misery  that 's  going.  And  you  wanted  to 
take  away  from  them  their  last  hope,  their  last  con- 
solation. And  to  what  purpose?  In  the  name  of 


102  SAWA  [ACT  m 

what?  In  the  name  of  some  wild,  ghastly  dream 
nbout  a  "naked  earth."  (/'  'It  terror  into  the 

darknett  of  the  room)  \  nakrd  earth!  It's  terri- 
ble to  think  of  it.  A  naked  earth!  How  could 
a  man,  a  human  being,  ever  conceive  such  an  idea? 
A  naked  earth!  Nothing,  nothing!  Everything 
laid  bare,  everything  annihilated.  Everything  that 
people  worked  for  through  all  the  years;  everything 
they  have  created  with  so  much  toil,  with  so  much 
pain.  Unhappy  people!  There  is  among  you  a 
man  who  says  that  all  this  must  be  burned,  must 
be  consumed  with  fire. 

8AVVA 

You  remember  my  words  to  perfection. 
LI  PA 

You  awakened  me,  Sawa.  When  you  told  me  all 
that,  my  eyes  were  suddenly  opened,  and  I  began 
to  love  everything.  Do  you  understand?  I  began 
to  love  it  all.  These  walls  —  formerly  I  did  n't 
notice  them;  now  I  am  sorry  for  them  —  so  sorry, 
I  could  cry.  And  the  books  and  everything  —  each 
brick,  each  piece  of  wood  to  which  man  has  applied 
his  labor.  Let 's  admit  that  it 's  poor  stuff.  Who 
says  it 's  good?  But  that 's  why  I  love  it  —  for  its 
defects,  its  imperfections,  its  crooked  lines,  its  un- 
fulfilled hopes.  For  the  labor  and  the  tears.  And 
all  who  hear  you  talking,  Sawa,  will  feel  as  I  do,  and 
will  begin  to  love  all  that  is  old  and  dear  and  human. 

8AVVA 

I  have  nothing  to  do  with  you. 
T.I  PA 

Nothing  to  do  with  us?  With  whom  then  have  you 
to  do?  No,  Sawa,  you  don't  love  anyone.  You 


ACT  in]  SAVVA  103 

love  only  yourself  and  your  dreams.  He  who  loves 
men  will  not  take  away  from  them  all  they  have.  He 
will  not  regard  his  own  wishes  more  than  their  lives. 
Destroy  everything !  Destroy  Golgotha !  Consider : 
(with  terror)  destroy  Golgotha!  The  brightest,  the 
most  glorious  hope  that  ever  was  on  earth!  All 
right,  you  don't  believe  in  Christ.  But  if  you  have  a 
single  drop  of  nobility  in  your  nature,  you  must  re- 
spect and  honor  His  noble  memory.  He  was  also 
unhappy.  He  was  crucified  —  crucified,  Savva. 
You  are  silent?  Have  you  nothing  to  say? 

SAVVA 
Nothing. 

LIPA 

I  thought  —  I  thought  —  if  you  succeeded  in  carry- 
ing out  your  plot  —  I  thought  I  'd  kill  you  —  that 
I  'd  poison  you  like  some  noxious  beast. 

SAVVA 

And  if  I  don't  succeed  — 

LIPA 

You  are  still  hoping? 

SAVVA 

And  if  I  don't  succeed,  I  '11  kill  you. 

LIPA  (advancing  a  step  toward  him) 

Kill  me !  Kill  me !  Give  me  a  chance  to  suffer  for 
the  sake  of  Christ.  For  the  sake  of  Christ  and  for 
the  sake  of  the  people. 

SAVVA 

Yes,  I  '11  kill  you. 

LIPA 

Do  you  suppose  I  didn't  think  of  it?  Do  you  sup- 
pose I  didn't  think  of  it?  Oh,  Lord,  to  suffer  for 
Thee!  Is  there  higher  happiness  than  that? 


101  SAVVA  |  \.  ,    m 


>\\  \  A  (:cith  a  contemptuous  i/fstiirc,  pointing  at 

And  that's  a  human  lirini^!  That's  one  counted 
mnoMcr  tin-  l>cst  !  That  *s  the  kind  in  which  they  tak<- 
pride!  Ah  me,  how  poor  you  arc  in  good  people! 

i  ir\ 

Insult!  Mock!  That's  the  way  it  has  always  heen. 
They  have  always  heaped  insults  upon  us  before 
they  killed  us. 

SAW  A 

No,  I  don't  mean  to  insult  you.  How  can  I  insult 
you?  You  are  simply  a  silly  woman.  There  ha\<- 
been  many  such  in  the  past.  There  are  many  such 
to-day.  You  are  simply  a  foolish,  insignificant 
creature.  You  are  even  innocent,  like  all  insignifi- 
cant persons.  And  if  I  mean  to  kill  you,  then-  is 
no  reason  to  be  proud  of  it.  Don't  think  you  are  an 
object  specially  worthy  of  my  indignation.  No,  it 
would  merely  make  matters  a  little  easier  for  me. 
When  I  was  chopping  wood,  and  the  axe  in  my 
raised  arm  struck  the  threshold  instead  of  the  log  of 
wood,  the  jar  was  not  so  hard  as  if  someone  had 
arrested  the  motion  of  my  arm.  A  raised  hand  must 
fall  on  something. 

LI  PA 

And  to  think  that  this  beast  is  my  brother! 

8AVVA 

Whose  cradle  you  rocked  and  whose  diapers  you 
changed.  Yes.  But  to  me  it  doesn't  seem  in  th-- 
least  strange  that  you  are  my  sister,  or  that  this 
bundle  there  is  my  brother.  No,  Tony!  They  are 
going.  (Tony  turns  his  head  and  stares  stupidly 
without  ntnkinf)  tint)  answer}  And  it  does  n't  sn-ia 
in  the  least  strange  to  me  that  any  insignificant  chit 


ACT  m]  SAVVA  105 

and  piece  of  nothingness  calling  itself  my  brother 
or  my  sister  should  go  to  the  chemist's  and  buy  a 
nickel's  worth  of  arsenic  on  finding  out  who  I  am. 
You  see,  they  have  even  attempted  to  poison  me. 
The  girl  who  left  me  tried  to  do  it,  but  she  lost  her 
nerve.  The  point  is  that  my  sisters  and  brothers, 
among  other  things,  have  the  characteristic  of  being 
cowards. 

UFA 

I  would  have  done  it. 

SAVVA 

I  don't  doubt  it.  You  are  a  little  hysterical,  and 
hysterical  people  are  determined,  unless  they  hap- 
pen to  burst  into  tears  first. 

LI  PA 

I  hysterical?  All  right,  have  it  your  way,  have  it 
your  way.  And  who  are  you,  Savva? 

SAVVA 

That  does  n't  interest  me. 

UFA 

They  are  going,  they  are  going.  And  they  will  find 
what  they  need.  And  that  is  the  work  of  an  hysteri- 
cal woman.  Do  you  hear  how  many  of  them  there 
are?  And  if  they  found  out  —  if  I  were  to  open  the 
window  this  minute  and  cry  out :  "  This  man  here 
has  tried  to  destroy  your  Christ  " —  If  you  want  it, 
I  '11  do  it  this  instant.  You  need  only  say  so.  Shall 
I?  (She  takes  a  step  toward  the  window  m  a  frenzy 
of  rage)  Shall  I? 

SAVVA 

Yes,  it 's  a  good  way  of  escaping  the  crown  of  thorns. 
Go  ahead,  shout.  But  look  out,  don't  knock  Tony 
down. 


106  S  \\\  A  [ACT  m 

i  ir\    (tnrnhiy  hack) 

I  am  sorry  for  you.  You  are  beaten,  and  one 
does  n't  like  to  kick  a  man  who  is  down.  Hut  remem- 
ber, remember,  Sawa,  there  arc  thousands,  thou- 
sands of  them  coining  in,  and  each  one  is  your  death ! 

\  (smiling) 
The  tramp  of  death. 

LI  PA 

Hi-member  that  each  one  of  these  would  consider 
himself  happy  in  killing  you,  in  crushing  you  like  a 
reptile.  Each  one  of  these  is  your  death.  Why, 
they  beat  a  simple  thief  to  death,  a  horse  thief. 
What  would  they  not  do  to  you!  You  who  wanted 
to  steal  their  God. 

8AVVA 

Quite  true.     That 's  property  too. 
LI  PA 

You  still  have  the  brazenness  to  joke?  Who  gave 
you  the  right  to  do  such  a  thing?  Who  gave  you 
power  over  people?  How  dare  you  meddle  with 
what  to  them  is  right?  How  dare  you  interfere 
with  their  life? 

8AWA 

Who  gave  me  the  right?  You  gave  it  to  me.  Who 
gave  me  the  power?  You  gave  it  to  me.  And  I  will 
cling  to  it  with  grim  determination.  Try  to  take  it 
from  me.  You  gave  it  to  me  —  you  with  your  mal- 
ice, your  ignorance,  your  stupidity !  You  with  your 
wretched  impotence!  Right!  Power!  They  have 
turned  the  earth  into  a  sewer,  an  outrage,  an  abode 
of  slaves.  They  worry  each  other,  they  torture  each 
other,  and  they  ask :  "  Who  dares  to  take  us  by  the 
throat?"  I!  Do  you  understand?  I!  (Rises) 


ACT  m]  SAVVA  '107 

LIPA 

You  are  a  mere  man  like  everybody  else. 
SAVVA 

I  am  the  avenger!  Behind  me  follow  in  pursuit  all 
those  whom  you  stifled  and  crushed.  Ah,  they  have 
been  pursuing  their  wicked  trade  in  all  quietness, 
thinking  that  no  one  would  discover  them  —  think- 
ing that  they  would  get  away  with  it  in  the  end. 
They  have  been  lying,  grovelling,  and  sneaking. 
They  have  been  cringing  and  abusing  themselves  be- 
fore their  altars  and  their  impotent  God,  saying: 
"  There  is  nothing  to  be  afraid  of  —  we  are  among 
ourselves."  Then  comes  a  man  who  says :  "  An 
accounting  —  I  want  an  accounting !  What  have 
you  done?  Out  with  it.  Give  me  an  accounting. 
Go  on  now!  Don't  try  to  cheat,  for  I  know  you. 
I  demand  an  account  for  each  and  every  single  item. 
I  will  not  condone  a  single  drop  of  blood,  I  will  not 
absolve  you  from  a  single  tear." 

LIPA 

But  to  destroy  all.     Think  of  it! 
SAVVA 

What  could  you  do  with  them?  What  would  you 
do?  Try  to  persuade  the  oxen  to  turn  away  from 
their  bovine  path?  Catch  each  one  by  his  horns  and 
pull  him  away?  Would  you  put  on  a  frock-coat 
and  read  a  lecture  ?  Have  n't  they  had  plenty  to 
teach  them?  As  if  words  and  thoughts  had  any 
significance  to  them !  Thought* —  pure,  unhappy 
thought!  They  have  perverted  it.  They  have 
taught  it  to  cheat  and  defraud.  They  have  made  it 
a  saleable  commodity  to  be  bought  at  auction  in  the 
market.  No,  sister,  life  is  short  and  I  am  not  going 


108  SAVVA  [ACT  m 

to   waste   it    in   argument^   with   oxen.      The   way    to 
il  with  thrill  is  by  fiiv.     Tlmt  *>  \\liat   they  require 
fire!     Let   tin  in  remember  long  the  day  on  which 
Savva  Tropinin  came  to  the  earth! 
LI  PA 

But  what  do  you  want?    What  do  you  want? 

SAWA 

What  do  I  want?  To  free  the  earth,  to  free  man- 
kind, to  sweep  tin-  whole  two-legged,  chattering  tribe 
out  of  existence.  Man  —  the  man  of  to-day  —  is 
wise.  He  has  come  to  his  senses,  lit  is  ripe  for 
liberty.  But  the  past  eats  away  his  soul  like  a  canker. 
It  imprisons  him  within  the  iron  circle  of  things  al- 
ready accomplished,  within  the  iron  circle  of  facts. 
I  want  to  demolish  the  facts  —  that 's  what  I  want 
to  do :  demolish  all  facts !  To  sweep  away  all  the 
accumulated  rubbish  —  literature,  art,  God.  They 
have  perverted  mankind.  They  have  immortalized 
stupidity.  I  want  to  do  away  with  everything  be- 
hind man,  so  that  there  is  nothing  to  see  when  he 
looks  back.  I  want  to  take  him  by  the  scruff  of 
his  neck  and  turn  his  face  toward  the  future. 
LIPA 

Look  here,  Sawa.  You  are  not  immortal,  and  the 
two-legged  animal  has  arms  also. 

VA 

Do  you  think  I  don't  know  that  every  one  of  these 
stupid  asses  would  be  glad  to  kill  me?  But  it  won't 
happen,  it  won't  happen.  The  time  has  come  for 
my  arrival,  and  I  have  arrived.  1'ivpare  yourselves. 
The  time  has  come.  You  little  insignificant  thing 
thert you  thought  that  by  stealing  one  little 


ACT  m]  SAVVA  109 

possibility  away  from  me  you  could  rob  me  of  all? 
Oh  no  —  I  am  as  rich  as  ever. 

UFA 

I  am  your  sister,  but  oh !  how  glad  I  am  that  you  are 
not  immortal. 

SAVVA 

I  see  that  you  are  a  thoroughgoing  anarchist.  They 
too  think  that  all  is  done  if  one  man  is  killed.  But 
if  they  kill  me,  hang  me,  break  me  on  the  wheel, 
there  will  come  another  purer  than  I.  Where  there  's 
an  itch,  there  is  always  somebody  to  scratch  it! 
Yes,  sister!  If  not  I,  then  someone  else,  and 
(clenchmg  his  fist)  it  will  fare  ill  with  your  world. 

LIPA 

You  are  a  terrible  man.  I  thought  you  would  be 
crushed  by  your  failure,  but  you  are  like  Satan. 
The  fall  has  only  made  you  blacker. 

SAVVA 

Yes,  Lipa,  only  a  sparrow  can  fly  straight  up  from 
the  ground.  A  large  bird  must  descend  to  adjust 
and  spread  its  wings  for  its  upward  flight. 

LIPA 

Aren't  you  sorry  for  the  children?     Think  of  the 
number  of  children  that  will  have  to  perish. 
SAVVA 

What  children?  Oh  yes,  Misha.  (Tenderly)  Misha 
is  a  fine  boy,  that 's  true.  When  he  grows  up,  he 
will  show  you  no  mercy.  Yes,  the  children  —  You 
are  beginning  to  be  afraid  of  them,  and  you  have 
good  reason  for  it.  Never  mind.  It 's  true  that  I 
love  children.  (With  pride)  And  they  love  me. 
But  they  don't  care  for  you. 


110  SAW  A  [ACT   in 

I.ll'A 

I  don't   play  jack^oiirs  with  them. 
8AVVA 

How   silly    you   are,   -i^er.      Hut    I    like   to   ]>lay   with 

thrill. 
Ml'\ 

Then  go  ahead  and  play. 

8AVVA 

Well,  I  will  play. 

LI  PA 

When  you  talk  like  that  I  have  the  feeling  once 
more  that  it  has  all  been  a  dream  —  nil  that  we  wen- 
saying  just  now.  Is  it  really  true  that  you  want 
to  kill  me? 

SAVVA 

Yes,  if  it  must  be  done.  But  perhaps  it  won't  be 
necessary. 

LI  PA 

You  are  joking! 

SAVVA 

Every  one  of  you  will  have  it  that  I  am  joking. 
You  keep  constantly  telling  me  so.  You  seem  to 
have  utterly  lost  the  sense  for  what  is  serious. 

LI  PA 

No,  it 's  not  a  dream.    They  are  going. 

SAVVA 

Yes,  they  are  going.     (Both  listen) 
LIPA 

You  still  seem  to  believe.    What  do  you  believe? 
SAVVA 

I  believe  in  my  destiny.     (The  hour  begins  to  strike 

in  the  belfry  of  the  monastery)     Twelve. 


ACT  ni]  SAVVA  111 

LIPA  (counting) 

Seven  —  eight  —  and  to  think  that  this  is  the  hour 
when  it  should  have  happened  —  the  very  idea  of 
it —  (A  muffled  report  as  of  a  powerful  explosion 
is  heard)  What  was  that? 

SAVVA 

Yes,  what  was  it? 

[Both  rush  to  the  window,  waking  Tony,  who  moves 
his  head  sleepily.  The  tread  of  the  footsteps  in  the 
street  stops  momentarily.  Then  all  begin  to  run. 
Frightened  cries  are  heard,  weeping,  loud,  abrupt 
ejaculations  of  "  What  's  the  matter?  "  "  Oh, 
Lord!  "  "  Fire,  fire!  "  "  No,  something  has  fallen 
down!  "  "  Let  '*  run!  "  The  word  "  monastery  "  is 
frequently  heard. 

TONY 

They  are  running!  Where  are  they  running  to? 
Why  is  nobody  here? 

PEUVGUEYA  (entering  the  room,  half  dressed) 

Oh,  Lord !  Oh,  heavens  !  Is  it  possible  the  monas- 
tery is  on  fire !  Good  gracious !  Heavens !  And 
you  here,  you  drunken  sot!  You  monster! 

TONY 

Oho!     They  are  running?     Faces,  mugs,  eh? 
[The  bell  begins  to  toll  the  alarm.     Then  the  strokes 
follow  each  other  in  more  rapid  succession;    hasty, 
disquieting,  uneven,  they  blend  with  the  noise  of  the 
street  and  seem  to  creep  through  the  window. 

PEI^AGUEYA  (crying) 

Good  God,  I  don't  know  where  to  turn. 

[She  runs  out.     The  cries  in  the  street  grow  louder. 

Someone  yells  in  one  prolonged  note  "  Oh-oh-oh!  " 


112  SAVVA  [ACT   ... 

Itntil    //*«•    sound    it    dro-iCned    in    tin-    genenil    noise, 

excitement,  tind  ringing. 

UFA  (innring  incnif  from  th*  window,  reri/  pule,  stupe- 
fied)      What    dors    it    iiH-jui?      It    cannot    l>r.       It    is 

impossible.     Tony,  Tony,  get  up.     Tony,  brother, 

what  docs  it  mean?    Tony! 
TONY    (reassuring! i/) 

It 's  nothing.     They  are  all  faces. 
>\v\  \    (/<,  7.;//v   the  window,  calm  and  stern,  but  also 

pale)     W«-ll.  drier? 
LIPA  (flinging  herself  about  the  room) 

I  want  to  run  with  the  rest.     I  '11  run.     Where  is 

my  scarf?     Where  is  my  scarf?    My  God,  My  God! 

Where  is  my  scarf? 
SAVVA 

Your  scarf?    There  it  is.    But  I  won't  give  it  to  you. 

Sit  down ;   you  have  nothing  to  do  there. 
LIPA 

Let  me  have  it. 
SAVVA 

No,  sit  down,  sit  down.     It 's  too  late  now  anyway. 
UFA 

Too  late? 

SAVVA 

Y'-s,  too  late.     Don't  you  hear  the  noise  the  crowd 
is  making  and  the  way  they  are  running  and  pushing? 
LIPA 

I  '11  run,  I  '11  run. 

SAVVA 

Keep  still  —  sit  down.      (Forces  her  to  sit  down) 
Tony,  did  you  hear?    They  've  exploded  God. 
TONY  (looking  at  Sawa's  face  in  terror) 

Savva,  don't  make  me  laugh.    Turn  your  face  away. 


ACT  in]  SAVVA  113 

[Sawa  smiles  and  walks  around  the  room  with  buoy- 

ant step,  without  his  usual  stoop. 
LIPA  (faintly) 

Sawa. 
SAVVA 

What  is  it?    Speak  louder. 

LIPA 

Is  it  really  true? 
SAVVA 

It  's  true. 


And  does  n't  He  really  exist  ? 
SAVVA 

He  does  not. 

[Li  pa  begins  to  cry,  at  first  low,  then  more  and  more 

loudly.     The  sound  of  the  ringing  bells  and  the  noise 

of  the  crowd  contmue  to   swell.     The  rolling  and 

clatter  of  wagons  is  also  heard. 
SAVVA 

They    are    running.      My,    how   they    are   running! 

(Lipa  says  something,  but  her  words  are  inaudible) 

Louder.      I    can't   hear   you.      My,   how    they   are 

ringing. 
LIPA  (aloud) 

Kill  me,  Sawa. 
SAVVA 

Why  ?    You  '11  die  anyhow. 
LIPA 

I  can't  wait.     I  '11  kill  myself. 
SAVVA 

Go  ahead,  kill  yourself,  kill  yourself  quick  ! 

[Lipa    cries,    burying    her   head   in    the    armchair. 

Tony,  his  face  distorted  with  fear,  looks  at  Sawa, 


114  SAWA  [ACT  in 

holding  both  his  hands  in  readiness  at  his  mouth. 
Loud  peals  of  the  hell.  The  d\i«inieting  sound  blends 
with  the  loud  tone  of  Savva's  speech. 

\  (shouting) 

Ah!  They  are  ringing.  Ring  on !  Ring  on!  Soon 
the  whole  earth  will  ring.  I  hear!  I  hear!  I  see 
your  cities  burning!  I  see  the-  flumes.  I  hear  the 
crackling.  I  see  the  houses  tumbling  on  your  heads. 
There  is  no  place  to  run  to.  No  refuge !  No  refuge ! 
Fire  everywhere.  The  churches  are  burning.  The 
factories  arc  burning.  The  boilers  are  bursting.  An 
end  to  all  slavish  toil! 

TONY  (trembling  with  fear) 

Savva,  shut  up,  or  I  am  going  to  laugh. 

SAVVA   (unheeding) 

The  time  has  come!  The  time  has  come!  Do  you 
hear?  The  earth  is  casting  you  out.  There  is  no 
place  for  you  on  earth.  No!  He  is  coming!  I  see 
him!  He  is  coming,  the  free  man!  He  is  being  bom 
in  the  flames !  He  himself  is  fire  and  resolution !  An 
end  to  the  earth  of  slaves! 

TONY 

Sawa,  shut  up ! 

SAVVA  (bending  down  to  Tony) 

Be  prepared !  He  is  coming !  Do  you  hear  his 
tread?  He  is  coming!  He  is  coming! 

CURTAIN 


THE   FOURTH   ACT 

Near  the  monastery.  A  broad  road  crosses  the  stage 
obliquely.  On  the  far  side  of  the  road  is  the  river, 
beyond  which  opens  a  wide  prospect  of  the  surrounding 
country  —  meadows,  woods,  and  "villages,  with  the 
crosses  of  the  churches  burning  in  the  sun.  In  the  dis- 
tance, at  the  right,  where  the  mountain  projects  over  a 
glistening  bend  of  the  river,  is  seen  a  part  of  the  walls 
and  the  towers  of  the  monastery.  On  the  near  side  of 
the  road  is  a  hilly  elevation  covered  with  trampled 
grass.  It  is  between  five  and  six  in  the  morning.  The 
sun  is  out.  The  mist  over  the  meadow  is  scattering 
slowly. 

Now  and  then  a  pilgrim  or  group  of  pilgrims  may 
be  seen  hurrying  by  on  their  way  to  the  monastery. 
Wagons  carrying  cripples  and  other  monstrosities  pass 
along  the  road.  The  noise  of  thousands  may  be  heard 
from  the  monastery.  The  crowd  is  evidently  moved  by 
some  joyous  emotion.  No  individual  voices  are  heard, 
but  it  is  as  if  one  could  feel  the  singing  of  the  blind, 
the  cries,  and  the  quick,  glad  snatches  of  conversation. 
The  general  effect  is  that  of  an  elemental  force.  The 
noise  decreases  at  regular  intervals,  like  a  wave,  and 
then  the  singing  of  the  blind  becomes  distinctly  audible. 

Lipa  and  the  Young  Friar  appear  on  the  near  side  of 
the  road.  Lipa  is  sittmg  on  the  hillock,  dressed  as  she 
was  the  night  before,  but  her  head  is  covered  with  a 
white  scarf  carelessly  tied.  She  is  exhausted  with  joy 


116  SAWA  [ACT  iv 

and  almost  dropping  off  to  sleep.  The  Friar  ttand* 
near  her.  On  his  face  there  is  a  tronJilcil,  rue  ant  look. 
Hi*  movements  are  irresolute  ami  aimless.  He  tries 
to  tmilc,  hut  his  smile  is  twisted  aiul  pitiful.  //<•  i.v  like 
a  child  who  feels  hurt  without  knowing  the  cause. 

in- \  (untying  her  scarf) 

Heavens,  but  this  is  splendid!  I  should  like  to  die 
lii-re.  I  can't  get  enough  of  it.  Oh,  it's  splendid, 
it 's  splendid ! 

FRIAR   (looking  around) 

Yes,  it  is  splendid.  But  I  can't  stand  it  in  there. 
I  can't.  Thej  push  and  jostle  and  press  and  jam. 
They  crushed  the  life  out  of  one  woman,  absolutely 
crushed  her.  She  had  a  child  with  her.  I  could  n't 
look  at  it.  I  —  I  '11  go  to  the  woods. 

LIPA 

How  splendid !    Oh,  Lord ! 

FRIAR  (looking  dejectedly  into  the  distance) 
I  '11  go  to  the  woods. 

LI  PA 

And  to  think  that  only  yesterday  everything  was 
just  as  usual.  There  was  nothing  of  all  this,  no 
miracle,  nothing.  Thcrr  was  only  Savva  —  I  can't 
believe  it  was  yesterday.  It  seems  to  me  a  whole 
year  has  passed,  a  century.  Oh,  Lord! 

FRIAR  (his  face  clouding) 
Why  did  he  do  it?     Why? 

LI  PA 

Can't  you  guess,  Vassya? 
FRIAR  (war'niff  his  hand) 

I  asked  him  to  come  to  the  woods  with  me.  He 
should  IMVC  come. 


ACT  iv]  SAVVA  117 

LIPA 

Did  he  tell  you  anything? 

FRIAR  (waving  his  hand) 

He  should  have  come.    Yes,  he  should  have  come. 

LIPA 

Ah,  Vassya,  Vassya,  on  account  of  your  woods  you 
missed  one  of  the  greatest  events  that  ever  happened 
—  so  great,  in  fact,  that  no  man  remembers  the  like 
of  it.  Ah,  Vassya,  how  can  you  be  speaking  about 
anything  else  when  right  now,  right  here  —  right 
here  —  a  miracle  has  happened.  Do  you  under- 
stand? A  miracle!  The  very  mention  of  it  fills  one 
with  awe.  A  miracle!  Oh,  God!  Where  were  you, 
Vassya,  when  the  explosion  occurred?  In  the  woods? 

FRIAR 

Yes,  in  the  woods.  I  did  n't  hear  the  explosion.  I 
only  heard  the  ringing  of  the  alarm  bell. 

LIPA 
Well? 

FRIAR 

Nothing.  I  ran  back  and  found  the  gate  open  and 
everybody  crying  like  mad.  And  the  ikon  — 

LIPA 

Well,  well?    Did  you  see? 
FRIAR 

Yes,  it  was  in  the  same  place  as  before.  And  all 
around —  (Growing  animated)  You  know  the 
iron  grating  over  there  —  you  know  it,  don't  you  ? 
It  was  twisted  like  a  rope.  It 's  funny  to  look  at. 
It  looks  like  something  soft.  I  touched  it,  and  it 
was  n't  soft,  of  course.  What  power !  It  must  have 
been  something  tremendous. 


118  SAVVA  [  v<  I  if 

1. 1  PA 

\\    11,  and  wlmt  about  the  ikon  —  the  ikon? 

FRIAR 

What  about  it?  Nothing.  It's  there  in  its  place, 
and  our  people  are  praying  to  it. 

UFA 

Oh,  Lord!     And  the  glass  is  whole  too? 

FRIAR 

The  glass  is  whole  too. 

UPA 

That  's  what  they  told  me,  but  I  can't  believe  it  yet. 
Forgive  me,  O  Lord!  Well,  what  are  they  doing? 
They  are  overjoyed,  I  suppose. 

FRIAR 

Yes,  they  are  overjoyed.  They  act  as  if  they  were 
drunk.  You  can't  make  out  what  they  are  sayi"£- 
A  miracle,  a  miracle.  Father  Kirill  keeps  grunting 
like  a  pig  "  Oui,  oui,  oui."  They  put  cold  compresses 
on  his  head.  He  is  fat,  and  he  may  pass  out  any 
moment.  No,  I  can't  stand  it  here.  Come,  let  us  go. 
I  '11  take  you  home,  Miss  Olympiada. 

IJPA 

No,  Vassya  dear,  I  '11  go  in  there. 

FRIAR 

Don't  go,  for  heaven's  sake.  They  '11  crush  you,  as 
they  did  that  woman.  They  are  all  like  drunk. 
They  are  carrying  on  and  shouting  like  mad,  with 
their  eyes  wide  open.  Listen.  Can't  you  hear  them? 

LI  PA 

You  are  still  a  boy,  Vassya.  You  don't  understand. 
Why,  it's  a  miracle.  All  their  lives  these  people 
have  bei-n  waiting  for  a  miracle.  Perhaps  they  had 
already  begun  to  despair,  and  now  —  O  Lord !  It 's 


ACT  iv]  SAVVA  119 

enough  to  make  you  mad  with  j  oy.  Yesterday,  when 
I  heard  the  cry  of  "  a  miracle,"  I  thought :  "  No, 
it 's  impossible.  How  could  it  happen  ?  "  But  then 
I  saw  them  crying,  crossing  themselves,  and  going 
down  on  their  knees.  And  the  ringing  of  the  alarm 
bell  stopped. 

FEIAE 

Oh,  it  was  Afanassy  who  rang.  He 's  terribly 
strong,  a  regular  giant. 

LIPA 

And  the  only  thing  heard  was  "  A  miracle,  a  mira- 
cle !  "  No  one  spoke,  and  yet  one  kept  hearing  "  A 
miracle,  a  miracle,"  as  if  the  whole  earth  had  become 
articulate.  And  even  now,  when  I  close  my  eyes,  I 
hear  "  A  miracle,  a  miracle!  "  (She  closes  her  eyes 
and  listens  with  an  ecstatic  smile)  How  splendid! 

FRIAR 

I  am  sorry  for  Mr.  Savva.  Listen  to  the  noise  they 
are  making. 

LIPA 

Oh,  don't  talk  about  him.  He  '11  have  to  answer  to 
God.  Are  they  going  to  sing  "  Christ  is  arisen " 
instead  of  the  usual  hymn  when  they  carry  the  ikon 
in  the  procession  to-day?  Vassya,  do  you  hear? 
I  am  asking  you  a  question. 

FRIAR 

Yes,  they  say  that  they  are.  Go  home,  Miss  Olym- 
piada,  won't  you? 

LIPA 

You  can  go,  if  you  like. 

FRIAR 

But  how  can  I  leave  you  alone?    They  '11  come  tear- 


120  SAW  A  [ACT  iv 

ing  down  here  soon.    For  heaven's  sukr,  thriv  i>  Mi. 

[Sawa  comet  in  hatlett.  Hit  face  it  dark  and 
stormy.  There  tire  lines  under  his  eyes.  He  look's 
fidncays  with  a  steady  stare.  Frequently  he  glances 
around  and  seems  to  be  listening  to  something.  His 
yiiit  is  henry,  but  quick.  Noticing  Lipa  and  tin- 
Friar,  he  turns  and  milks  toward  them.  At  his 
approach  Lipa  rises  and  turns  away. 

SAW  A 

Have  you  seen  Kondraty? 

FBIAR 

No,  he  is  in  the  monastery. 

[Sawa  remains  stundiiu/  in  silence.  The  noise  in 
the  monastery  has  sultsided  and  the  sad,  pitiful  sing- 
ing of  the  blind  is  heard. 

FRIAR 

Mr.  Sawa. 

SAWA 

Have  you  got  a  cigarette? 

FRIAR 

No,  I  don't  smoke.  (Plaintively)  Come  to  the 
woods,  Mr.  Sawa.  (Sawa  remains  immovable  and 
ftilent)  They'll  kill  you,  Mr.  Tropinin.  Come  to 
the  woods  —  please  come!  (Sawa  looks  fixedly  at 
him,  then  silently  turns  (in<f  r<v///,-.v  arcay)  Mr.  Tro- 
pinin, on  my  word  you  had  better  come  with  me  to 
the  woods. 

MPA 

Leave  him  alone.  He  is  like  Cain.  He  can't  find  a 
place  on  the  earth.  Everybody  is  rejoicing,  and 
he  — 


ACT  iv]  SAVVA  121 

FRIAR 

His  face  is  black.     I  am  sorry  for  him. 

IJPA 

He  is  black  all  through.  You  had  better  keep  away 
from  him,  Vassya.  You  don't  know  whom  you  are 
pitying.  You  are  too  young.  I  am  his  sister.  I 
love  him,  but  if  he  is  killed,  it  will  be  a  benefit  to  the 
whole  world.  You  don't  know  what  he  wanted  to 
do.  The  very  thought  of  it  is  terrible.  He  is  a 
madman,  Vassya,  a  fearful  lunatic.  Or  else  he  is  — 
I  don't  know  what. 

FRIAR  (waving  his  hand) 

You  need  n't  tell  me  all  that.  I  know.  Of  course 
I  know.  Don't  I  see?  But  I  am  sorry  for  him  all  the 
same,  and  I  am  disgusted  too.  Why  did  he  do  it? 
Why  ?  What  stupid  things  people  will  do !  Oh,  my ! 

LIPA 

I  have  only  one  hope  —  that  he  has  understood  at 
last.  But  if  — 

FRIAR 

Well,  what's  the  "if"? 

LIPA 

Oh,  nothing,  but  —       When  he  came  here,  it  was  as 
if  a  cloud  had  passed  across  the  sun. 
FRIAR 

There  you  go  also !    You  should  be  happy  —     Why 

don't  you  rejoice?     Don't  be  "  iffing "  and  "but- 

ting." 

[A  crowd  begins  to  collect  gradually.     Two  wagons 

with  cripples  stop  on  the  road.      A   paralytic  has 

been  sitting  for  some  time  under  a  tree,  crying  and 

blowing  his  nose  and  wiping  it  with  his  sleeve.     A 


122  SAVVA  [ACT  r 

Man  in  Peasant  Overcoat  appears  from  the  dirn 
of  the  monastery. 

MAN  IX  OVERCOAT  (officiously) 

AYe  must  get  the  cripples  over  to  Him,  to  the  ikon  — 
we  must  get  them  over  there.     What's  the  matter, 
women,    are    you    asleep?     Come    on,    move    along. 
You  '11  get  your  rest  over  there.     What  's  the  mat'   r 
with  you,  gran'pa?     Why  are  n't  you  moving  along? 
You  ought  to  be  there  with  your  legs.     Go  on,  old 
man,  go  on. 
PARALYTIC  (crying) 
I  can't  walk. 

MAN    IX    OVERCOAT    (fussily) 

Oh,  that 's  it?  That 's  what 's  the  matter  with  you, 
eh?  Come,  I  '11  give  you  a  lift.  Get  up. 

PARALYTIC 

I  can't. 

PASSER-BY 

Won't  his  legs  work?  WTiat  you  want  to  do  is  to 
put  him  on  his  feet,  and  then  he  '11  hop  away  by 
himself.  Isn't  that  right,  old  man? 

MAN    IX    OVERCOAT 

You  take  hold  of  him  on  that  side,  and  I  '11  take  this 
one.  Well,  old  man,  get  a  move  on  you.  You  won't 
have  to  suffer  long  now. 

PASSER-BY 

There  he  goes,  hop,  hop.     That 's  right.     Go  it,  go 
it,  old  man,  and  you  won't  get  left.    (He  goe»  away) 
FRIAR   (smiling  happily) 

They  started  him  going  all  right.  Clever,  isn't  it? 
He  is  galloping  away  at  a  great  rate  too.  Good- 
bye, old  gran'pa. 


ACT  iv]  SAVVA  123 

LIPA  (crying) 

Lord !    Lord ! 
FRIAR  (pained) 

What 's   the   matter?      Don't   cry,   for   pity's   sake. 

What  are  you  crying  for?     There  is  no  cause  for 

crying. 

LIPA 

No  cause  do  you  say,  Vassya?    I  am  crying  for  joy. 
Why  aren't  you  glad,  Vassya?     Don't  you  believe 
in  the  miracle? 
FRIAR 

Yes,  I  do.  But  I  can't  bear  to  see  all  this.  They 
all  behave  like  drunks,  and  shout  and  make  a  noise. 
You  can't  understand  what  they  are  talking  about. 
They  crushed  that  woman.  (With  pain  and  dis- 
gust) They  squeezed  the  life  out  of  her.  Oh,  Lord, 
I  simply  can't!  And  the  whole  business.  Father 

SKirill    keeps    grunting    "  Oui,    oui,    oui."     (Laughs 
sadly)     Why  is  he  grunting? 
LIPA  (sternly) 

You  learned  that  from  Sawa. 

FRIAR 

No,  I  did  n't.    Tell  me,  why  is  he  grunting?   (Laughs 

sadly)     Why? 

[Yegor  Tropinin  enters  dressed  in  holiday  attire,  his 

beard  and  hair  combed.    He  looks  extremely  solemn 

and  stern. 
YEGOR 

Why  are  you  here,  eh?    And  in  that  kind  of  dress? 

You  're  a  fine  sight. 
LIPA 

I  had  no  time  to  get  dressed. 


124  SAW  A  [AC-T  iv 

TEOOR 

But  you  found  time  to  get  here.  What  you  have  no 
business  to  do  you  have  time  for,  hut  what  you 
should  do  you  have  no  time  for.  (Jo  home  and  get 
dressed.  It  is  n't  proper.  Who  has  ever  seen  such 
a  thing? 

LIPA 

Oh,  papa! 

TEOOR 

There  is  nothing  to  "  oh  "  about.  It 's  all  right, 
papa  is  papa,  but  you  see  I  am  properly  (insMci. 
I  dressed  and  then  went  out.  That 's  the  ri^ht  way 
to  do.  Yes.  It 's  a  pleasure  to  look  at  myself  sidr 
ways.  I  dressed  as  was  proper,  yes.  On  a  day 
like  this  you  ought  to  give  a  hand  at  the  count «T. 
Tony  has  disappeared,  and  Polya  can't  do  all  the 
work  herself.  You  need  n't  be  making  such  a  face 
now. 

MERCHANT  (passing  by) 

Congratulate  you  on  the  miracle,  Mr.  Tropinin ! 

YKGOR 

Thank  you,  brother,  the  same  to  you.  Wait,  I  '11  <n> 
with  you.  You  are  a  goose,  Olympiada.  You  have 
always  been  a  goose,  and  you  have  remained  a  goose 
to  this  day. 

MERCHANT 

You  '11  have  a  fine  trade  now. 

YEGOR 

If  it  please  the  Lord!    Why  are  you  so  late?    Have 
you  been  sleeping?     You  keep  sleeping,  all  of  you, 
all  the  time.     (They  go  out) 
FRIAR 

I  scattered  all  the  fireflies  I  caught  on  the  road  when 


ACT  iv]  SAVVA  125 

I  ran  last  night.  And  now  the  crowd  has  trampled 
them  down.  I  wish  I  had  left  them  in  the  woods. 
Listen  to  the  way  they  are  shouting.  I  wonder 
what 's  the  matter.  They  must  have  squeezed  some- 
body to  death  again. 

LIP  A  (closing  her  eyes) 

When  you  talk,  Vassya,  your  words  seem  to  pass 
by  me.  I  hear  and  I  don't  hear.  I  think  I  should 
like  to  stay  this  way  all  my  life  without  moving  from 
the  spot.  I  should  like  to  remain  forever  with  my 
eyes  shut,  listening  to  what  is  going  on  within  me. 
Oh,  Lord !  What  happiness !  Do  you  understand, 
Vassya? 

FRIAR 

Yes,  I  understand. 

LIPA 

No.  Do  you  understand  what  it  is  that  has  hap- 
pened to-day  ?  Why,  it  means  that  God  has  said  — 
God  Himself  has  said :  "  Wait  and  do  not  fear. 
You  are  miserable.  Never  mind,  it 's  nothing,  it 's 
only  temporary.  You  must  wait.  Nothing  has  to 
be  destroyed.  You  must  work  and  wait."  Oh,  it 
will  come,  Vassya,  it  will  come.  I  feel  it  now,  I 
know  it. 

FRIAR 

What  will  come? 

LIPA 

Life,  Vassya,  real  life  will  come.    Oh,  mercy !    I  still 
feel  like  crying  for  joy.     Don't  be  afraid. 
[SperansTty  and  Tony  enter,  the  latter  "very  gloomy, 
glancing  sideways  and  sighing.     In  a  queer  way  he 
sometimes  recalls  Sawa  by  his  gait  and  look. 


126  SAWA  [ACT  iv 

8PERAN8KY 

Good    morning.    Miss    Olympiads.      Good    morning, 
Ya.xxva.      What   an  extraordinary  rv.nt,  if  \u-  an-  to 
believe  what  people-  say. 
UFA 

Hi-lii-yi',  Mr.  Speransky,  believe. 

SPERANSKY 

You  judge  in  a  very  simple  offhand  manner.  If, 
however,  you  take  into  consideration  the  fact  that 
it  is  highly  probable  that  nothing  exists,  that  even 
we  ourselves  do  not  exist  — 

TO  XV 

Kcep  quiet. 

8PERAN8KY 

Why?    There  is  no  miracle  for  me,  Miss  Olympiada. 
If  at  this  moment,  for  example,  everything  on  this 
earth  were  suddenly  to  be  suspended  in  the  air,  I 
should  n't  regard  it  as  a  miracle. 
LIPA 

As  what  then  ?    You  're  a  very  peculiar  man. 

SPERANSKY 

I  should  look  on  it  simply  as  a  change.  It  was  first 
one  thing  and  then  it  became  another.  If  you  wish, 
I  '11  admit  that  for  me  the  very  fact  that  things  arc 
as  they  are  is  in  itself  a  miracle.  All  arc  glad  and 
rejoicing,  but  I  sit  and  think:  "Time  is  blinking 
his  eyes  now,  and  there  is  a  change.  The  old  peo- 
ple are  dead,  and  in  their  places  appear  the  young. 
And  they  are  apparently  glad  and  rejoicing  too." 

TONY 

Where  is  Sawa? 

1JPA 

Why  do  you  want  him? 


ACT  iv]  SAWA  127 

SPERANSKY 

He  has  been  looking  for  Mr.  Savva  ever  so  long. 
We  have  looked  everywhere,  but  have  not  been  able 
to  find  him. 

FRIAR 

He  was  here  awhile  ago. 
TONY 

Where  did  he  go? 
FRIAR 

To  the  monastery,  I  think. 
TONY  (pulling  Speransky) 

Come. 

SPERANSKY 

Good-bye,  Miss  Olympiada.     How  they  are  shouting 
over  there!     The  time  will  come  when  they  will  all 
be  silent.     (They  go  off) 
FRIAR  (disturbed) 

Why  are  they  looking  for  Mr.  Sawa? 

LIPA 

I  don't  know. 
FRIAR 

I  don't  like  that  seminarist.     Always  nosing  about 

where  there  are  dead  around.     What  does  he  want? 

He  is  a  dreadfully  disagreeable  fellow.     Never  misses 

a  funeral.    He  smells  death  miles  away. 
LIPA 

He  is  an  unhappy  creature. 
FRIAR 

Unhappy?    Why  is  he  unhappy?     Even  the  dogs  in 

the  village  are  afraid  of  him.     You  don't  believe  it? 

It 's  so,  upon  my  word !     They  bark  at  him,  and 

then  slink  away  behind  the  gate. 


128  SANA  A  [AC.   .\ 

LIP  A 

What  docs  all  this  matter  anyway,  Vassya?  It  's 
of  no  account,  mere  triHcs.  To-day  th.-y  arc  going 
to  sing:  "Christ  is  arisen  from  the  <l.a<l.  Death 
conquered  death."  Do  you  understand? 
"  Death  has  conquered  death." 

FRIAR 

I  understand.  I  understand.  But  why  docs  he  say 
"All  will  become  silent"  and  that  sort  of  stuff? 
I  don't  like  it,  I  don't  like  it.  They  have  crushed 
a  woman  to  death  —  perhaps  others  too.  (Shaking 
his  head)  I  don't  like  it.  In  the  woods  everything 
is  so  quiet  and  nice,  and  here  —  I  'd  prefer  that  no 
miracle  had  happened.  I  'd  rather  have  things  nice 
and  pleasant.  What's  the  use  of  it?  What's  the 
use  of  the  miracle?  There  is  no  need  of  a  miracle. 

LIPA 

What  are  you  talking  about,  Vassya? 

FRIAR 

Savva  Tropinin !  The  idea.  It  should  n't  have  been 
done.  There  was  no  need  of  it.  He  said  he  'd  #<> 
with  me  to  the  woods  and  then  —  I  liked  him  a  lot," 
but  now  I  am  afraid  of  him.  Why  did  he  do  it? 
Why?  My,  what  a  fearful  crowd!  More  cripples 
coming,  and  more  and  more. 

LIPA 

What  is  the  matter,  Vassya?  What  are  you  so 
excited  about? 

FRIAR 

Everything  was  so  nice  and  fine.     Oh,  my !     Why 
don't  you  go  home,  Miss  Olympiada?    Do  go,  pl« 
You  have  seen  all  there  is  to  be  seen.     It  's  enough. 
What  can  you  gain  by  staying  here?     Come,  I  '11 


ACT  iv ]  SAVVA  129 

go   with   you.      Oh,   God,   there   comes    Mr.    Savva 

again ! 
LIPA 

Where? 
FRIAR 

There  he  is.     For  heaven's  sake! 
SAVVA  (enters  and  sits  down) 

Has  Kondraty  been  here? 
FRIAR 

No,  Mr.  Sawa. 

[Pause,    Again  the  piteous  singing  of  the  blind  can 

be  heard. 
SAVVA 

Got  a  cigarette,  Vassya? 
FRIAR 

No,  I  have  n't.    I  don't  smoke. 
LIPA   (harshly) 

What  are  you  waiting  for,  Sawa?     Go  away.     You 

are  not  wanted  here.     Look  at  yourself.     You  are  a 

terrible  sight.     Your  face  is  black. 
SAVVA 

I  did  n't  sleep  all  last  night.    That 's  why  it 's  black. 
LIPA 

What  are  you  waiting  for? 
SAVVA 

For  an  explanation. 
LIPA 

You  don't  believe  in  the  miracle? 
SAVVA  (smiling) 

Vassya,  do  you  believe  in  the  miracle? 

FRIAR 

Yes,  of  course  I  do,  Mr.  Savva. 


130  SAWA  [ACT  .v 

SAVVA 

Wait.     You  '11  find  out.     What  are  they  doing  down 
there?     They  have  already  crushed  three  to  death. 
FRIAR 
Three? 

8AVVA 

And  they  '11  kill  many   more.      And  they   nil   keep 

shouting:  "A  miracle,  a  miracle!"     At  last  it  li  is 

come.     They  have  got  what  they  have  been  waiting 

for  at  last. 
UFA 

And  it  's  you,  Sawa,  who  gave  them  the  miracle. 

It 's  you  who  are  to  be  thanked  for  it. 
SAVVA  (gloomily) 

Well,   Vassya,   the   monks   are   glad,   aren't   they? 

Tell  me,  don't  be  afraid. 
FRIAR 

They  are  very  glad,  Mr.  Sawa.     They  are  crying. 
SAVVA    (looking   at   him) 

Crying?    Why  are  they  crying? 
FRIAR 

I  don't  know.     I  suppose  for  joy.     Father  Kirill 

grunts  like  a  pig  "  Oui,  oui,  oui."     They  all  act  as 

if  they  were  drunk. 
SAVVA   (rising,  agitated) 

As   if  they  were  drunk?     What  does   that  mean? 

Perhaps  they  really  are  drunk. 
FRIAR 

Oh  no,  Mr.   Tropinin.  Tt  's  nil  on   account  of  the 

miracle.     They  are  mad  with  joy.     Father   Kirill 

keeps  grunting  "  Oui,  oui,  oui."     He  vows  that  if 


ACT  iv]  SAVVA  131 

he  remains  alive  he  '11  swear  off  liquor  and  live  as  a 
hermit. 

SAVVA  (eyeing  kirn) 
Well? 

FRIAR 

That  's  all. 

SAVVA 

What  do  they  say? 
FRIAR 

They  say  they  '11  do  penance  and  stop  sinning.    They 

hug  each  other  and  behave  as  if  they  were  drunk. 
SAVVA   (walking  up  and  down,  stroking  his  forehead 

with  his  hand)     Yes,  hm.     So  that 's  the  way !    Yes. 
LIPA  (following  him  with  her  eyes} 

Go  away  from  here,  Savva.     You  are  not  wanted 

here. 
SAVVA 

What? 
LIPA  (reluctantly) 

They  may  recognize  you  and  then  —     Why  don't 

you  put  on  a  hat  at  least?     You  look  like  — 
FRIAR 

Yes,  go  —  please  go  —  dear  Mr.  Savva.     Why,  they 

—  why,  they  might  kill  you ! 
SAVVA  (in  a  sudden  outburst  of  anger) 

Leave  me  alone !     No  one  will  kill  me.     It 's  bosh ! 

(Pause.     Sits  down)     I  wish  I  could  get  a  drink  of 

water  or  something.    I  am  very  thirsty.    Is  n't  there 

a  pool  or  something  of  the  kind  around  here? 
FRIAR  (looking  in  terror  at  Sawa) 

No,  it 's  all  dried  up. 
SAVVA  (frowning) 

Sorry. 


182  SAV\  \  [ACT  IT 

FBIAE 

Oh,  that  woman  there  1ms  a  jug  of  water.     (Glee- 
fully)     I'll  go  and  ask   her   for  it.      (linn*) 
LI  PA 

You  ought  not  to  have  that  water.  Go  away  from 
here,  Savva,  go  away.  Look  what  gladness  there  is 
all  around  you.  Everybody,  everything  rejoin-,. 
The  earth  is  glad.  The  sun  is  glad.  You  are  tin- 
only  one  who  is  not  —  you  alone.  I  still  can't  forget 
that  you  are  my  brother.  Go.  But  wherever  you 
go,  bear  with  you  the  memory  of  this  day  alv, 
Remember  that  the  same  fate  awaits  you  every- 
where. The  earth  will  not  surrender  her  God  to 
you;  the  people  will  not  surrender  to  you  that 
whereby  they  live  and  breathe.  Yesterday  I  still 
feared  you.  To-day  I  regard  you  with  pity.  You 
are  pitiful,  Savva!  Go!  Why  are  you  laughing? 

SAVVA  (smiling) 

Is  n't  it  a  little  premature,  sister,  for  you  to  be  de- 
livering my  funeral  oration? 

LI  PA 

Aren't  you  frightened  yet? 

SAVVA 

Why  should  I  be  frightened?     At  your  tricks  and 
jugglery?     I  am  UM -d  to  the  lies  and  frauds,  Lipa. 
You   can't   frighten   me  with  them.     I   still  ha\ 
lot  of  stupid  confidence  left.     It  will  help.     It  will 
come  in  handy  the  next  time. 

I.I  PA 

Sawa! 
FRIAR  (brinrjiiKj  (lie  jnfj  of  water) 

I  had  the  hardest  time  getting  it  from  her.     She  was 


ACT  iv]  SAVVA  133 

like  flint.     She  said  she  needed  it  herself.     She  was 

a  hard  case. 
SAVVA 

Thank   you,   boy.      (Drinks   with   avidity)      Fine! 

(Drinks  the  last  drop)     That  was  fine  water.     Take 

it  back  and  tell  the  woman  her  water  was  fine  and 

that  there  is  none  like  it  in  all  the  world. 
FRIAR  (merrily) 

All  right,  I  '11  tell  her.     (Goes  off) 
UFA    (in  a   whisper) 

You  are  the  enemy  of  the  human  race. 
SAVVA  (smacking  his  lips) 

Very  well,  very  well.     Just  wait.     We  '11  hear  what 

Kondraty  has  to  say.    The  blackguard !    I  '11  give  it 

to  him ! 
UFA  (with  emphasis,  but  still  in  a  whisper  as  before) 

You  are  the  enemy  of  the  human  race !    You  are  the 

enemy  of  the  human  race ! 
SAVVA 

Louder !     No  one  hears  you.     It 's  a  spicy  bit  of 

information. 

UFA 

Go  away  from  here. 
[The  Friar  returns. 

SAVVA  (looking  into  the  distance  with  narrowed  eyes) 
It 's  nice  out  there,  is  n't  it,  Vassya?  Whose  woods 
are  they?  Vazykin's?  Have  I  ever  been  there  with 
you? 

FRIAR  (gleefully) 

Yes,  they  're  Vazykin's.  I  was  there  yesterday,  Mr. 
Savva.  I  caught  a  whole  handful  of  fireflies,  but  as 
I  ran —  (He  grows  sorrowful  at  the  memory) 
My,  how  they  are  shouting!  What  are  they  up  to 


184  SAWA  [ACT  if 

anyway?     Did  you  say  they  killed  tlin«,   Mr.  Tro- 
pinin?     Was  that  what  you  said? 
SAW  A   (coolly) 

V  -.  three. 

FRIAR 

What  are  they  pushing  and  jostling  for  anyhow? 

He  '11  be  carried  in  the  procession  and  they  can  all 

see  Him. 
SAVVA 

When  will  they  carry  Him? 
FRIAR  (looking  up) 

It  won't  be  long  now. 
LI  PA 

They  '11  sing  "  Christ  is  Arisen  "  to-day. 
SAVVA  (smiling) 

Is  that  so?    Didn't  I  arrange  a  feast-day  for  them 

though  ? 

[Tony  and  Speransky  appear. 
FRIAR 

Are   these   fellows   here   too?      For   goodness*   sake, 

what  do  they  want?     What  are  they  looking  for? 

I  don't  like  it.     Mr.  Tropinin,  come;   let 's  go  away 

from  here. 
SAVVA 

Why? 

FRIAR 

They  are  coming  this  way,  Speransky  — 

SAVVA 

Aha !     The  "  Tramp  of  Death  "  is  approaching. 
[Lipa   looks   at   him   in  astonishment.      The   Friar 
presses  his  hand  to  his  bosom  in  a  state  of  agitation. 
FRIAR  (pltiintircly) 

What  are  you  saying?    Oh,  God !    Why  did  you  say 


ACT  iv]  SAVVA  135 

that?     You  mustn't  do  it.     This   is  no  tramp  of 
death,  nothing  of  the  kind. 
SAVVA 

It 's  a  kind  of  story  he  has  written  —  Good  morn- 
ing, good  morning.  What  can  I  do  for  you? 

SPERANSKY 

Mr.  Anthony  Tropinin  is  looking  for  you,  Mr. 
Sawa. 

SAVVA 

What  do  you  want? 

TONY  {-eery  sadly,  hidmg  a  little  behind  Speransky) 
Nothing. 

FEIAE  (listening  attentively  and  then  speaking  with 
passion}  What  are  you  running  around  for  then, 
and  whom  are  you  hunting?  If  you  want  nothing, 
do  nothing.  But  you  are  running  around  and  hunt- 
ing, hunting.  It  is  n't  nice,  I  tell  you ! 

TONY  (after  a  passing  glance  at  the  Friar  he  fixes  his 
gaze  on  Sawa)  Sawa. 

SAVVA  (irritated) 
What  do  you  want? 

{Tony  makes  no  answer,  but  hides  behind  Speran- 
sky,  looking  over  his  shoulder.  In  the  course  of 
what  follows  he  keeps  steadily  looking  at  Sawa. 
His  lips  and  eyebrows  twitch,  and  at  times  he  presses 
both  his  hands  hard  against  his  mouth. 

SPERANSKY 

The  crowd  is  in  a  state  of  great  agitation,  Miss 
Olympiada.  They  broke  the  old  gate  opening  on  the 
other  side  of  the  woods  and  rushed  in.  The  Father 
Superior  came  out  and  asked  them  to  behave.  They 
shout  so  you  can't  hear  anything  at  all.  Many  are 
rolling  on  the  ground  in  convulsions.  I  suppose 


186  SAVVA  [ACT  iv 

they  are  sick.  It  *s  MTV  strange,  quite  unusual  in 
fact. 

LI  PA 

Will  they  carry  Him  out  soon?    I  must  go.     (Rises) 
SPERANSKV 

They  say  it'll  be  soon  now.  One  wagon  with  crip- 
ples in  it  was  upset  —  cripples  without  hands  or 
feet.  They  are  lying  on  the  ground  crying.  It 's 
all  so  strange. 

FRIAR 

What?  Did  you  see  it  yourself? 
[Kondraty  appears  on  the  road  coming  from  the 
monastery.  He  is  Kallcing  in  the  company  of  two 
pilgrims,  who  are  listening  attentirely  to  him. 
Catching  sight  of  Sawa,  Kondraty  says  something 
to  his  companions,  who  remain  standing  where  tltey 
arc  while  he  goes  up  to  Save  a. 

SAVVA 

Aha! 
KONDRATY  (clean,  spruce,  beaming) 

Good  morning,  Miss  Olympiada.     Good  morning  to 

you  too,  Mr.  Sawa  Tropinin. 
SAVVA 

Good  morning,  good  morning.    You  have  come  after 

all?     You  were  not  afraid? 

KONDRATY    (calmly) 

Why  should  I  be  afraid?  You  won't  kill  me,  I  sup- 
pose, and  if  you  should,  it  would  be  sweet  to  die  at 
your  hands. 

SAWA 

What  bravery!  And  how  clean  you  are!  You  are 
positively  painful  to  look  at.  You  didn't  make- 
quite  so  smart  an  appearance  when  you  lay  wallow- 


ACT  iv]  SAVVA  137 

ing  in  the  puddle.     You  were  a  little  the  worse  for 

the  mud,  and  so  on. 
KONDRATY  (shrugging  his  shoulders  and  speaking  with 

dignity)      It 's  no  use  recalling  that  incident  now. 

It 's  quite  out  of  place.     Mr.  Tropinin,  it 's  time  for 

you  to  have  done  with  your  spite  and  malice,  high 

time. 
SAVVA 

Well? 

KONDRATY 

That's   all.      There   is  no   "well"  about  it.      You 
have  had  your  shot.     Be  satisfied. 
SAVVA 

Are  congratulations  upon  the  miracle  in  order? 

KONDRATY 

Yes,  Mr.  Tropinin,  upon  the  miracle  —  the  miracle, 
indeed.  (He  weeps  with  a  bland  air,  wiping  his  face 
with  his  handkerchief)  God  granted  that  I  should 
live  to  see  the  day. 

SAVVA  (rising  and  advancing  a  step  toward  the  monk; 
peremptorily}  Enough  now!  Stop  your  hocus- 
pocus.  You  have  played  your  trick.  Now  stop,  or 
I  '11  knock  all  that  jugglery  out  of  you.  Do  you 
hear? 

FRIAR 

Mr.  Sawa,  good  Mr.  Savva,  please  don't. 

KONDRATY  (drawing  back  a  little} 

Not  so  loud,  not  so  loud.  We  are  not  in  the  forest 
where  you  can  kill  rich  merchants  and  get  away  with 
it.  There  are  people  here. 

SAVVA  (lowering  his  voice) 

Well,  tell  me  all  about  it.     Come  on. 


138  SAWA  [ACT  iv 

ICON  OR  AT  Y 

What 's   the  use   of  going  away?      I    can    t.ll    you 
rything  right  here.     I  have  no  secrets.     It's  you 
who  have  secrets.    I  am  all  here. 

8AVVA 

You  '11  lie  if  you  tell  it  here. 
KONDRATY  (heatedly,  rcith  tears) 

Shamr,  Mr.  Tropinin!     Shame!     Shame!     Why  do 

you  insult  me?     Is  it  because  you  saw  me  lying  in 

t!u-  puddle?    It 's  a  sin,  a  shame! 
SAVVA  (perplexed) 

What 's  the  matter  with  you? 

KONDRATY 

Do  you  think  I  am  going  to  lie  on  a  day  like  this? 

Mi-s   Olympiada,   you    at   least   ought    to    know  — 

Good   God!      Good   God!      Why,   Christ   has   just 

arisen!     Do  you  understand? 

[The  crowd  increases.     Some  cast  glances  at   the 

group  icith  the  tzco  monks  before  they  pass  on. 
IJPA  (excitedly) 

Father  Kondraty  — 
KONDRATY  (beating  his  breast) 

Do  you  understand?     I  have  lived  all  my  life  like  a 
'iindrel,  so  why,  why  did  (Jod   do   this   with   mr? 

Do  you  understand,  Miss  Olympiada?     Do  you  un- 
derstand?    Eh? 
SAVVA  (perplexed) 

Talk  sense.     Stop  blubbering. 
KONDHATY  (waving  his  hand) 

I  am  not  angry  with  you.     I  bear  you  no  grudge. 

Who   arc  you   that   I   should   bear  any   rescntimiif 

against  you? 


ACT  iv]  SAVVA  139 

SAVVA 

Talk  sense. 

KONDRATY 

I  '11  tell  Miss  Olympiada.  I  won't  speak  to  you. 
You  knew  me  as  a  drunkard,  Miss  Olympiada,  a 
mean,  worthless  creature.  Now  listen.  (  To  Speran- 
sky)  And  you,  young  man,  may  listen  also.  It 
will  teach  you  a  lesson.  It  will  show  you  how  God 
works  His  will  unseen. 
LIPA 

I  see,  Father  Kondraty.     Forgive  me. 

KONDRATY 

God  will  forgive  you.  Who  am  I  to  forgive  you? 
So  that 's  the  way  it  was,  Miss  Olympiada.  I  fol- 
lowed your  advice  and  went  to  the  Father  Superior 
with  the  infernal  machine.  It  was  indeed  an  infernal 
machine!  And  I  told  him  everything,  just  the  way 
I  felt,  with  a  perfect  candor  and  purity  of  heart. 

SPERANSKY  (guessing) 

Is  that  how  it  happened?    What  a  remarkable  event ! 

FRIAR  (quietly) 

Keep  quiet.    What  are  you  butting  in  for? 

KONDRATY 

Ye-es.  The  Father  Superior  turned  pale.  "  You 
scamp,"  he  said,  "  do  you  know  with  whom  you 
have  had  dealings?  "  "I  do,"  I  said,  trembling  all 
over.  Well,  they  called  together  the  whole  brother- 
hood and  discussed  the  matter  in  secret.  And  then 
the  Father  Superior  said  to  me :  "  It 's  this  way, 
Kondraty,"  he  said.  "  God  has  chosen  you  as  the 
instrument  of  His  sacred  will.  Yes.  (  Weeps)  God 
has  chosen  you  as  the  instrument  —  " 


110  S\\\\  [ACT  iv 

I  ir\ 

\\V11?     Go  on. 

kONDRATY 

^t  .  -.  Inn.  "Go,"  he  said,  "find  put  down  tin-  ma- 
chine ;is  you  were  told  to  do,  and  set  it  going  accord- 
ing to  tin-  directions.  Carry  out  the  drvil's  plot  i.i 
full.  I  and  the  other  brothers  will  sing  H  hymn 
quietly  as  we  carry  the  ikon  away.  Yes,  that 's  what 
we'll  do.  We'll  carry  the  ikon  away.  And  tlm> 
tin-  devil  will  be  made  a  fool  of." 

8AVVA 

Ah ! 
i.ii'.v   (astonished) 

But,  Father  Kondraty,  how  can  that  be? 
[Sarra   laughs  heartily. 

KONDRATY 

Patience,  patience,  Miss  Olympiada.  "  And  when," 
said  the  Father  Superior,  "  the  devil's  plot  shall  ha\ 
been  carried  out,  then  we  '11  put  the  ikon  —  the  dear, 
precious  ikon  —  back  in  His  place."  Well,  I  won't 
attempt  to  describe  the  scene  that  took  place  win  n 
we  carried  the  ikon  away.  It 's  beyond  my  power. 
The  brothers  sobbed  and  wept.  Not  one  of  them 
was  able  to  sing.  The  little  candles  burned  with  tiny 
little  flames.  And  then  when  we  carried  Him  out 
to  the  gate,  and  when  we  began  to  think  and  remem- 
bered—  who  is  now  in  His  sacred  place  —  we  lay 
around  the  ikon,  our  faces  on  the  Around,  and  cried 
and  wept  bitter,  bitter  tears,  tears  of  pity  and  con- 
trition. "O  Thou,  our  own,  our  precious  idol,  have 
mercy  on  us,  return  to  Thy  place."  (f.ijxi  cries; 
flic  Friar  vripes  his  eyes  rcith  his  fist)  And  then 
bang!  went  the  machine,  and  the  sulphurous  smoke 


ACT  iv]  SAVVA  141 

spread  all  around  so  that  it  was  impossible  to 
breathe.  (In  a  whisper)  And  then  many  beheld  the 
devil  in  the  smoke,  and  they  were  so  terrified  that 
they  lost  consciousness.  It  was  horrible !  And  then, 
as  we  carried  Him  back,  all  of  one  accord,  as  though 
we  had  agreed  beforehand,  began  to  sing  "  Christ 
is  arisen."  That  's  how  it  happened. 

SAVVA 

You  hear,  Lipa?  But  what 's  the  matter  with  you? 
Why  are  you  all  crying? 

FRIAR 

It  makes  one  feel  so  sorry,  Mr.  Savva. 

SAVVA 

Why,  they  fooled  you,  they  played  a  trick  on  you. 
Or  else  you  are  all  lying,  lying  with  your  tears. 
\Kondraty  makes  a  gesture  of  indifference. 

LIPA  (shaking  her  head,  weeping) 

No,  Savva,  you  don't  understand.  Oh,  Lord !  Oh, 
Lord! 

KONDHATY 

You  have  no  God,  that 's  the  reason  you  don't  under- 
stand. You  have  only  reason,  and  pride,  and  malice. 
That 's  why  you  don't  understand.  Ah,  Mr.  Savva, 
you  wanted  to  ruin  me  too.  And  I  tell  you  as  a 
Christian  —  it  would  have  been  better  if  you  had 
never  been  born. 

SAVVA 

Oh,  fiddlesticks !  Whom  do  you  think  you  can  hood- 
wink? Do  you  think  I  have  turned  blind? 

XONDRATY  (turning  away  with  a  wave  of  his  hand) 
You  can  shout  as  much  as  you  like. 

PRIAR 

Mr.  Savva,  you  must  n't  shout,  you  must  n't.     We 


I  \.\  [ACT  iv 


ha\e   aln.idv   at  t  racled   tin-   at  tc-nt  ion   ol    tin-   croud. 
They  are  looking  nt  US. 

SAVVA  (laying  his  hand  on  Kondraty'*  shoulder  and 
speaking  in  a  low  voice)  Look  lu  T.  •.  I  under.-tand. 
Of  course,  in  the  presence  of  peopK  -----  hut  you 
understand.  don't  you,  Kondrnty?  You  are  a  clever 
man,  a  very  bright  num.  You  understand  that  all 
this  is  nonsense.  Just  consider,  brother,  consider 
a  moment.  Didn't  they  carry  the  ikon  away? 
Then  where  is  the  miracle? 

KOXDRATY  (twisting  hi  m  .self  free  from  Sawa's  gr/i*f>, 
shaking  his  head  and  speaking  aloud)  Then  you 
don't  understand?  No,  you  don't  understand.  What 
of  it? 

SAVVA   (in  a  whisper) 

Listen,  remember  our  talk. 

KONDRATY    (aloud) 

Don't  whisper  to  me.  I  have  nothing  to  hide  from 
anybody.  How  do  you  think  miracles  happen  any- 
how? Say.  you  are  a  smart  man  too,  and  yet  you 
can't  comprehend  a  simple  matter  like  this.  Why, 
it's  all  your  work,  all  your  doing,  isn't  it?  You 
gave  me  the  machine.  You  planned  the  explosion. 
Your  orders  have  been  carried  out.  And  yet  the 
ikon  is  untouched;  it's  whole.  That's  all  I  ht\' 
to  say.  It  's  the  plain,  simple  statement  of  fact. 
Yet  you  come  here  with  your  arguments  and  try  to 
get  away  from  those  facts  by  mere  reasoning. 
UFA  (looking  around  in  a  paroxysm  of  excitement) 
How  simple  it  is  !  And  how  terrible  !  O  Lord,  O 
Lord!  And  to  think  that  it  was  I  who  did  it,  I, 
with  my  own  hands!  O  my  God  !  (.S7»r  fulls  on  her 
knees,  turning  her  eyes  toward  heaven) 


ACT  iv]  SAVVA  143 

SAVVA  (looking  at  her  savagely,  then  at  Kondraty) 

Well! 
KONDRATY  (drawing  back  in  fright) 

Why  are  you  staying  here?     Why  haven't  you  left 

already  ? 
SAVVA    (shouting) 

What  a  fool  you  are! 

KONDRATY  (paling) 

Lower,  lower,  I  say.     Don't  talk  like  that,  or  I  '11 

shout. 
SAVVA  (turning  quickly  toward  Speransky) 

What   are   you   staring  at  with   your   mouth   wide 

open?      You   are   a  philosopher.      You,   you   are   a 

philosopher.     Can  you  understand  the  stupidity  of 

these  people?    They  think  it 's  a  miracle.     (Laughs') 

They  think  it 's  a  miracle. 
SPERANSKY  (stepping  back) 

Excuse  me,  Mr.  Tropinin,  but  from  their  point  of 

view  —  I  don't  know. 
SAVVA 

You  don't  know? 

SPERANSKY 

Who  does  know?  (Cries  out,  in  despair)  The  dead 
alone,  Mr.  Savva,  the  dead  alone. 

KONDRATY 

Ah !     You  are  cornered  —  Antichrist ! 
LIPA  (in  terror) 
Antichrist? 

[Hearing  the  cry,  the  two  pilgrims  who  were  with 
Kondraty  approach.  They  are  gradually  joined  by 
others,  among  whom  is  the  Man  in  Peasant  Overcoat. 

FIRST  PILGRIM 

What  is  it,  father?    Has  he  revealed  himself? 


144  SAVVA  [ACT  iv 

KOM        \  I  \ 

Look  ut  him,  look  at  him! 

SAVVA 

\    ^ya,  you  dear,  fine  boy  —  Vassya,  what  is  the 
inattiT    with    them?      Hear    what    thry    are    saying. 
Hrar    the    mmsrnse   they   are   talking.      You   good, 
nice  boy! 
FRIAR  (drawing  back) 

Mr.  Savva,  don't,  don't.  Go  away  from  here.  Leave 
this  place. 

8AVVA 

Vassj'a,  Vassya,  you,  you  — 
FRIAR  (crying) 

But  I  don't  know.     I  don't  know  anything.     I  am 

afraid. 
LIPA   (ecstatically) 

Antichrist!    Antichrist! 
>vi>    PII.CRIM 

Hear!     Hear! 

KOXDRATY 

Ah !  You  are  cornered.  Here  is  your  money  — 
take  it!  It  has  burned  holes  in  my  pockets,  your 
accursed  money.  Here,  take  it,  take  it,  you  brood 
of  Antichrist!  (Throws  the  money  at  him) 

\  ( raiting  his  fist  as  if  to  deal  a  blow)     I  '11  teach 
you  — 

FIRST   PILGRIM 

Boys,  don't  be  afraid.     Here  boys,  here! 
SAVVA  (pressing  his  head  between  his  hands) 
Oh,  it  hurts,  it  hurts!     Darkness  is  closing  in. 

KONDRATV 

It's  beginning  to  get  you,  is  it?  That's  right, 
that 's  right. 


ACT  iv]  SAVVA  145 

LIPA 

Antichrist ! 

TONY  (shouting) 
Savva,  Savva! 

SAVVA  (sinking  for  a  moment  into  profound,  terrible 
meditation;  then  he  straightens  himself  suddenly 
and  seems  to  grow  in  stature;  he  cries  out  with  a 
wild  joy  as  if  speaking  above  the  heads  of  all  to 
reach  somebody  far  off)  I  am  right!  Therefore  I 
am  right!  It  was  all  necessary!  All!  All!  (He 
stands  as  if  petrified  in  an  upward-striving  posture) 

KONDRATY 

Boys,  it 's  he  who  did  it.     That 's  the  fellow. 

MAN  IN  OVERCOAT  (pushing  himself  forward,  offi- 
ciously) What's  the  matter,  boys?  Aha!  He  is 
caught!  Which  one?  This  one?  Come  on  with 
you!  (Takes  hold  of  Savva  by  the  sleeve) 

SAVVA  (shaking  him  off  with  such  violence  that  the 
man  falls  down)  Get  away  from  me! 

VOICES 

Don't  let  him  go! 

KONDRATY 

Hold  him! 

FRIAR  (crying) 

Run,  Mr.  Savva,  run. 

[During  the  following  scene  Lipa  prays.  Speransky 
looks  on  with  keen  curiosity,  while  Tony  stares  over 
his  shoulder.  All  the  voices  become  blended  into  one 
raging,  frightened,  savage  roar. 

CROWD 

Get  at  him  from  that  side !  Yes,  go  yourself !  You 
have  a  stick !  Oh,  hang  it,  there  is  n't  a  single  stone 
around !  Hold  him,  hold  him,  he  '11  escape ! 


146  SAWA  [A<  i  n 

M  \N  IN  o\  i  IK-OAT  (getting  to  hi*  feet  again  and  assum- 
ing the  leadcmhi]>)  Surround  him,  boys,  surround 
him!  Block  the  way  to  the  river!  Don't  let  him  run 
away !  Well,  now,  get  a  move  on  you ! 

CROWD 

Go  yourself  —  I've  tried  once!  Push  that  way! 
Get  hold  of  him !  Grab  him !  Aha ! 

KOXDRATY  (shouting  at  the  top  of  his  voice) 
Beat  him!     Beat  the  Antichrist!     Beat  him! 

SAWA  (the  danger  br'uu/s  him  back  to  Jiis  senses.  He 
looks  around,  taken  in  the  path  to  the  rlrcr  icith  a 
quick  glance,  and  gray  as  dust  with  rage,  he  makes 
for  it  with  a  single  abrupt  movement)  Get  out  of 
the  way,  you  monsters! 

CROWD 

He  is  getting  away !  He  is  getting  away !  Hold 
him !  Boys,  he  is  getting  away !  He  is  getting 
away! 

[As  Sawa  advances,  the  crowd  falls  back  in  a  semi- 
circle, tumbling  against  one  another.  Kondraty  be- 
gins to  make  the  sign  of  the  cross  at  Sawa  and  con- 
tunics  to  do  so  throughout  the  remaining  scene. 

SAVVA  (advancing) 

Get  out  of  the  way !  Get  out  of  the  way !  So  you  're 
scared  now,  you  dogs?  You  've  pulled  in  your  tails? 
Get  out  of  the  way !  Go  on ! 

CROWD 

He  is  getting  away. 

[King  Herod  issues  from  the  crowd,  ami  plants  him- 
self in  front  of  Sawa  so  as  to  obstruct  his  way. 
There  is  a  terrible  look  on  his  face.  Sawa  comes 
up  close  to  him  and  stops. 


ACT  iv]  SAVVA  147 

SAVVA 

Well? 

[A  brief  pause.     The  conversation  is  carried  on  in 

a  sort  of  undertone,  almost  calmly. 

KING  HEROD 

Is  that  you? 

SAVVA 

Is  that  you?    Let  me  go. 

KING   HEROD 

A  man? 
SAVVA 

Yes,  let  me  go. 

KING   HEROD 

Did  you  want  the  Saviour?     Christ? 
SAVVA 

They  fooled  you. 

KING  HEROD 

People  may  fool,  Christ  never.    What 's  your  name? 
SAVVA 

Savva.    Get  out  of  my  way,  I  tell  you. 

KING   HEROD 

Surrender  Thy  servant  Savva.     Hold! 
[He  strikes  a  heavy,  swinging  blow  with  his  left  fist 
whence  Savva  did  not  expect  an  attack.    Savva  sinks 
on  one  knee.    The  crowd  rushes  at  him  and  tramples 
him  down. 
CROWD 

Beat  him!     Aha!     So!     He  is  turning  back!     Beat 
him! 

FRIAR 

What  does  this  mean?    Oh!  Oh!  Oh!     (He  clutches 
his  head  with  both  hands,  cries,  and  runs  away) 


148  SAWA  [ACT  iv 

\   (fighting  denperateli/,  he  upbears  for  n  moment 
looking    fierce    and    terrible)     Let    go—       Ho-o-o ! 
(He  sinks  back  again) 
CROWD 

That  's  the  way.  One,  two  -  Ah !  Strike !  Got 
him?  Not  yet!  Got  him?  What  are  you  waiting 
for?  Strike!  Done! 

A   VOICE 

He  's  still  moving. 
CROWD 
Strike ! 

MAN    IX    OVERCOAT 

lYt<  r.  got  a  knife?    Finish  him  with  your  knife.     Cut 

his  throat. 
PETER 

No,  I  M  rather  do  it  with  my  heel.     One !    Two ! 
KOxniiATY    (cursing  him) 

Lord  Jesus  Christ!     Lord  Jesus  Christ! 

[Loud    cries    are    heard    from     the    background: 

"  They    are    carrying    Him!      They    are    earn/ing 

Him!  "     Tlie  mob  begins  to  disperse  and  thins  out 

quickly. 

CROWD 

They  are  carrying  Him!  Yes,  it's  enough.  It's 
done.  No,  let  me  at  him  —  once  more.  There!  I 
g:ive  him  one  good  one  in  his  face.  They  are  carry- 
ing Him  !  They  are  carrying  Him  ! 

HINT.    IIKKOD 

Enough,    enough.     A    grand    feast    for    you,    you 
accursed  beasts! 
CROWD 

I  tell  you,  they  are  carrying  II;m!  Lie  there,  you! 
Oh  my,  am  I  going  to  be  late?  Enough  now.  Ar 


ACT  iv]  SAVVA  149 

you  sorry  for  him,  eh?  Is  it  your  head?  One  more! 
Come  on ! 

[They  run  away  so  that  Savva's  mangled  body  be- 
comes visible. 

MAN  IN   OVERCOAT 

It  ought  to  be  taken  away  from  here.  It  is  n't  right 
to  leave  it  here  on  the  road.  It 's  dirty.  Boys ! 
Say,  boys! 

[He  goes  off  -following  the  rest,  but  is  met  by  the 
procession  pouring  in  upon  the  stage.  There  is  a 
great  din  and  humming  of  talk.  Speransky  and 
Tony  approach  the  body  cautiously,  bend  over  it  on 
their  knees,  one  on  each  side,  and  stare  at  it  eagerly. 

SPERANSKY 

Dead!     His  eyes  are  gone. 
TONY 

Shut  up!  {He  bursts  into  a  groaning  laugh,  press- 
ing his  hands  hard  to  his  mouth) 

SPERANSKY 

But  his  face  is  calm.  Look,  Mr.  Anthony.  It 's 
because  now  he  knows  the  truth. 

TONY 

Shut  up!  (Bursts  out  laughing)  What  a  funny 
face  he  has ! 

[He  laughs  behind  his  hand.  Then  his  laugh  bursts 
through  his  fingers,  so  to  speak,  grows  in  i/ntensity, 
becomes  irresistible,  and  passes  into  a  whine.  The 
crowd  begins  to  fill  the  stage,  concealing  the  body, 
Speransky,  and  Tony.  The  bells  are  rung  in  the 
monastery  as  at  Easter,  and  at  the  same  time  the 
singing  of  thousands  of  voices  is  heard. 

CROWD 

"  Christ  is  risen  from  the  dead.     He  has  conquered 


150  SAWA  [ACT  iv 

death  with  death  and  given  life  to  those  lain  in  their 
graves.  Christ 

LIPA  (flinging  herself  into  the  crowd) 
"Christ  is  risen!" 

[The  crowd  continue*  to  pour  in,  fill'int/  the  entire 
stage.  Gaping  months  mid  round,  wide-open  eyes 
are  teen  everywhere.  Shrill  shrieks  are  uttered  by 
the  crazed  epileptics.  A  momentary  outcry  Is  heard: 
"Somebody  crushed!"  Tony's  laughter  dies  away 
somewhere.  The  triumphant  hymn  rises,  spreads, 
passes  into  a  titanic  roar  that  drowns  every  other 
sound.  The  bells  continue  to  ring. 

CROWD  (shouting  at  their  utmost  power) 

"  Christ  is  risen  from  the  dead.  He  has  conquered 
death  with  death  and  given  life  to  those  lain  in  their 
graves.  Christ  is  risen  —  " 

CUETAIN 


THE    LIFE    OF   MAN 

(ZHIZN  CHELOVIEKA) 

A  PLAY  IN   FIVE   SCENES   WITH   A  PROLOGUE 
1906 


TO  THE   BRIGHT   MEMORY   OF   MY   FRIEND,   MY   WIFE 
I   DEDICATE   THIS   COMPOSITION 

THE  LAST 

ON   WHICH   WE   WORKED   TOGETHER 


PERSONS 

SOMEONE  IN  GRAY  CALLED  HE 
MAN 

His  WIFE 
•FATHER 
RELATIVES 
NEIGHBORS 
MAN'S         -I  FRIENDS 
ENEMIES 
GUESTS 
.SERVANTS 
MUSICIANS 
PHYSICIANS 
A  BARTENDER 
DRUNKARDS 
OLD  WOMEN 

PROLOGUE  —  Someone  in  Gray  called  He,  speaking  of 

the  Life  of  Man 

SCENE  I  —  The  Birth  of  Man  and  the  Mother's  Travail 
SCENE  II  —  Love  and  Poverty 
SCENE  III  —  Wealth.     Man's  Ball 
SCENE  IV  —  Man's  Misfortune 
SCENE  V  —  The  Death  of  Man 


THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 

PROLOGUE 

SOMEONE  IN  GRAY  CALLED  HE,  SPEAKING 
OF  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 

A  large,  rectangular  space  resembling  a  room  with- 
out doors  or  windows  and  quite  empty.  Everything 
is  gray,  monocolored,  drab  —  the  -walls  gray,  and  the 
ceiling,  and  the  floor.  A  feeble,  even  light  enters  from 
some  invisible  source.  It  too  is  gray,  monotonous, 
spectral,  producing  neither  lights  nor  shadows. 

Someone  in  Gray  moves  noiselessly  away  from  the 
wall,  close  against  which  He  has  been  standing.  He 
wears  a  broad,  gray,  formless  smock,  vaguely  outlining 
the  contours  of  His  body;  and  a  hat  of  the  same  gray 
throws  the  upper  part  of  His  face  into  heavy  shadow. 
His  eyes  are  invisible.  AH  that  is  seen  are  His  cheek- 
bones, His  nose,  and  His  chin,  which  is  massive,  heavy, 
and  blunt,  as  if  hewn  out  of  rock.  His  lips  are  pressed 
tight  together.  Raising  His  head  slightly,  He  begins 
to  speak  in  a  firm,  cold,  unemotional,  unimpassioned 
voice,  like  a  reader  hired  by  the  hour  reading  the  Book 
of  Fate  with  brutal  indifference. 

SOMEONE  IN  GRAY 

Look  and  listen,  you  who  have  come  here  to  laugh 
and  be  amused.     There  will  pass  before  you  the  whole 


166  THE    LIFE    OF    MAX          [SCENE  i 

lifi-  of  Man.  from  his  dark  beginning  to  his  dark  end- 
ing. Previously  non-e\i>tant.  my>teriously  hiddrii  in 
the  infiniteness  of  time,  neither  feeling  nor  thinking, 
and  known  to  no  one,  he  will  mvsti  piously  break 
through  the  prison  of  non-being  and  with  a  cry  an- 
nounce the  beginning  of  his  brief  life.  In  the  ni/jht  of 
non-existence  a  light  will  go  up,  kindled  by  an  in 
hand.  It  is  the  life  of  Man.  Behold  the  flame  —  it  is 
the  life  of  Man. 

Being  born,  he  will  take  the  form  and  the  name  of 
Man,  and  in  all  things  will  become  like  other  men  al- 
ready living.  And  their  hard  lot  will  be  his  lot,  and 
his  hard  lot  will  be  the  lot  of  all  human  beings.  In- 
exorably impelled  by  time,  he  will,  with  inavertible 
necessity,  pass  through  all  the  stages  of  human  life, 
from  the  bottom  to  the  top,  from  the  top  to  the  bottom. 
Limited  in  vision,  he  will  never  see  the  next  step  which 
his  unsteady  foot,  poised  in  the  air,  is  in  the  very  act 
of  taking.  Limited  in  knowledge,  he  will  never  know 
what  the  coming  day  will  bring,  or  the  coming  hour, 
or  the  coming  minute.  In  his  unseeing  blindness, 
troubled  by  premonitions,  agitated  by  hope  and  fear, 
he  will  submissively  complete  the  iron-traced  circle 
foreordained. 

Behold  him  a  happy  youth.  See  how  brightly  the 
candle  burns.  From  boundless  stretches  of  space  the 
icy  wind  blows,  circling,  careering,  and  tossing  the 
flame.  In  vain.  Bright  and  clear  the  candle  burns. 
Yet  the  wax  is  dwindling,  consumed  by  the  fire.  Yet 
the  wax  is  dwindling. 

Behold  him  a  happy  husband  and  father.  But  see 
how  strangely  dim  and  faint  the  candle  burns,  as  if 
the  yellowing  flame  were  wrinkling,  as  if  it  were  shiver- 


SCENE  i]  THE    LIFE    OF    MAN  157 

ing  with  cold  and  were  creeping  into  concealment.  The 
wax  is  melting,  consumed  by  the  fire.  The  wax  is 
melting. 

Behold  him  an  old  man,  ill  and  feeble.  The  stages 
of  life  are  already  ended.  In  their  stead  nothing  but 
a  black  void.  Yet  he  drags  on  with  palsied  limbs. 
The  flame,  now  turned  blue,  bends  to  the  ground  and 
crawls  along,  trembling  and  falling,  trembling  and 
falling.  Then  it  goes  out  quietly. 

Thus  Man  will  die.  Coming  from  the  night,  he  will 
return  to  the  night  and  go  out,  leaving  no  trace  behind. 
He  will  pass  into  the  infinity  of  time,  neither  thinking 
nor  feeling,  and  known  to  no  one.  And  I,  whom  all 
call  He,  shall  remain  the  faithful  companion  of  Man 
throughout  his  life,  on  all  his  pathways.  Unseen  by 
him,  I  shall  be  constantly  at  hand  when  he  wakes  and 
when  he  sleeps,  when  he  prays  and  when  he  curses. 
In  his  hours  of  joy,  when  his  spirit,  free  and  bold, 
rises  aloft;  in  his  hours  of  grief  and  despair,  when  his 
soul  clouds  over  with  mortal  pain  and  sorrow,  and 
the  blood  congeals  in  his  heart ;  in  the  hours  of  victory 
and  defeat;  in  the  hours  of  great  strife  with  the  im- 
mutable, I  shall  be  with  him  —  I  shall  be  with  him. 
And  you  who  have  come  here  to  be  amused,  you  who 
are  consecrated  to  death,  look  and  listen.  There  will 
pass  before  you,  like  a  distant  phantom  echo,  the 
fleet-moving  life  of  Man  with  its  sorrows  and  its  joys. 
[Someone  in  Gray  turns  silent.  The  light  goes  out, 
and  He  and  the  gray,  empty  room  are  enveloped  in 
darkness. 


THE    FIRST    SCENE 

THE    BIRTH    OF    MAN    AND    THE 
MOTHER'S    TRAVAIL 

Profound  darkness;  not  a  stir.  Like  a  swarm  of 
mice  in  hiding,  the  gray  silhouettes  of  Old  Women  in 
strange  headgear  are  dimly  discerned;  also  vaguely 
the  outline  of  a  large,  lofty  room.  The  Old  Women 
carry  on  a  conversation  in  low,  mocking  voices. 

OLD  WOMEN'S  CONVERSATION 

—  I  wonder  whether  it  '11  be  a  boy  or  a  girl. 

—  What  difference  does  it  make  to  you? 

—  I  like  boys. 

—  I  like  girls.    They  always  sit  at  home  waiting  till 
you  call  on  them. 

—  Do  you  like  to  go  visiting? 
[The  Old  Women  titter. 

—  He  knows. 

—  He  knows.     (Silence) 

—  Our  friend  would  like  to  have  a  girl.     She  says 
boys  are  so  restless  and  venturesome  and  are  always 
seeking  danger.     Even  when  they  are  little,  they  like 
to  climb  tall  trees  and  bathe  in  deep  water.     They 
often  fall,  and  they  drown.     And  when  they  get  to 
be  men,  they  make  wars  and  kill  one  another. 

—  She  thinks  girls  don't  drown.     I  have  seen  many 
girls  drowned.     They  look  like  all  drowned  people, 
wet  and  green. 


SCENE  i]  THE    LIFE    OF    MAN  159 

—  She  thinks  girls  don't  get  killed  by  stones  thrown 
at  them. 

—  Poor  woman,  she  has  such  a  hard  time  giving  birth 
to   her   child.      We   have   been   sitting  here   sixteen 
hours,  and  she  is  still  crying.     At  first  she  cried  out 
loud.      Her   screams   pierced   our   ears.      Then   she 
cried  more  quietly,  and  now  she  is  only  moaning. 

—  The  doctor  says  she  '11  die. 

—  No,  the  doctor  says  the  child  will  die  and  she  will 
live. 

—  Why  do  they  bear  children  ?     It  is  so  painful. 

—  And  why  do  they  die?    It  is  still  more  painful. 
{The  Old  Women  laugh  suppressedly. 

—  Yes,  they  bear  children  and  die. 

—  And  bear  children  again. 

[They  laugh.    A  subdued  cry  of  the  suffering  woman 
is  heard. 

—  Beginning  again. 

—  She  's  recovered  her  voice.     That  Js  good. 

—  That 's  good. 

—  Poor  husband.     He  's  lost  his  head  completely. 
You  ought  to  see  him.   He  's  a  sight.   At  first  he  was 
glad  his  wife  was  pregnant  and  said  he  wanted  a  boy. 
He  thinks  his  son  will  be  a  cabinet  minister  or  a 
general.     Now  he  does  n't  want  anything,  neither  a 
boy  nor  a  girl.     He  just  goes  about  grieving  and 
crying. 

—  Every  time  she  is  seized  with  pain  he  begins  to 
labor,  too,  and  gets  red  in  the  face. 

—  He  was  sent  to  the  chemist's  shop  for  medicine, 
and  he  hung  about  there  for  two  hours  without  being 
able  to  remember  what  he  was  sent  for.    He  returned 
without  it. 


160  THE    LIFE    OF    MAN          [SCENE  i 

[The  Old  Women  titter.     The  cries  grow  louder  <ui<l 
die  arcuy.    Silence. 

—  What's    the   matter   with    her?      Maybe   she   has 
died  already. 

—  No.     If  she  had,  we'd  hear  crying,  and  tin-  doc- 
tor would  come  running  and  begin  to  talk  nonsense-. 
They  'd  bring  her  husband  out   in  ;i  faint,  and  we  'd 
have  to  work  over  him.     No,  she  's  not  dead. 

—  Then  what  are  we  sitting  here  for? 

—  Ask  Him.     What  do  we  know? 
-He  won't  tell. 

—  He  won't  tell.     He  never  tells  anything. 

—  He  orders  us  about  as  he  pleases,  gets  us  out  of 
bed,   and   makes  us  watch;    and  then   it   turns  out 
that  our  coming  was  n't  even  needed. 

—  We  came  of  our  own  accord,  didn't  we?     We 
must  tell  the  truth.     There,  she  's  screaming  again. 

—  Have  n't  you  had  as  much  of  it  as  you  want? 

—  Are  you  satisfied? 

—  I  keep  my  mouth  shut  and  wait. 

—  You  're  an  angel. 

[They  l<in(/h.     The  cries  grow  louder. 

—  Listen  to  her.     What  fearful    pain  she  must  be 
suffering.    Have  you  an  idea  of  what  the  pain  is  like? 
It 's  as  if  your  insides  were  being  torn  to  pieces. 

—  We  all  have  borne  children. 

—  It's  just   as    if  she   were   not   herself.      I  don't 
recognize  our  friend's  voice.     It 's  naturally  so  soft 
and  gentle. 

—  Her  screaming  is  more  like  the  roar  of  a  wild 
beast. 

—  You  feel  the  night  in  it. 


SCENE  i]  THE    LIFE    OF    MAN  161 

—  You  feel  the  boundless  black  forest  and  hopeless- 
ness and  terror. 

—  You   feel   solitude   and   grief.      There   are   other 
people  with  her.     Why  can't  you  hear  other  voices 
beside  that  savage,  dismal  wail? 

—  They  are  talking,  but  you  can't  hear  them.    Have 
you  ever  noticed  how  solitary  man's  cries  are?    Any 
number  of  men  will  talk,  and  you  won't  hear  them. 
But  let  one  human  being  cry,   and  it   seems   as  if 
the  others  were  all  silent,  listening. 

—  I  once  heard  a  man  scream  who  had  been  run  over 
by  a  carriage  and  had  his  leg  crushed.     The  street 
was  full  of  people.     Yet  he  seemed  to  be  the  only 
one  there. 

—  But  this  is  more  terrible. 

—  Say  rather  it  is  louder. 

—  I  should  say  it  is  more  prolonged. 

—  No,  it 's  more  terrible.     You  feel  death  in  it. 

—  You  had  a  feeling  of  death  then,  too.     In  fact, 
the  man  did  die. 

—  Don't  dispute.     It 's  all  the  same  to  you. 
[Silence.     Cries. 

—  How  strange  man's  crying  is !     When  you  your- 
self are  ill  and  cry,  you  don't  notice  how  strange  it 
is.     I  can't  imagine  the  mouth  that  produces  such 
sounds.     Can    it    be    a    woman's    mouth?     I    can't 
imagine  it. 

—  It 's  as  if  it  got  twisted  and  crooked. 

—  As  if  the  sound  issued  from  some  depth.     Now 
it 's  like  the  cry  of  someone  drowning.    Listen,  she  's 
choking. 

—  A  heavy  person  is  sitting  on  her  chest. 

—  Someone  is  choking  her. 


162  THE    LIFE    OF    MAN  [sc»        , 

[The  crying  ccaset. 

—  At  last  she  hus  quii-U-d  down.      Ymi   <^<-t    tired  of 
crying.     It  *s  monotonous  and  not  bountiful. 

—  You  *rc  looking  for  beauty  here  too,  are  you? 
[The  Old  Women  titter. 

-Hush!    Is  He  here? 

—  I  don't  know. 

—  He  seems  to  be. 

—  He  does  n't  like  laughing. 

—  They  say  He  laughs  Himself. 

—  Whoever  heard  Him  laugh?     You  are  simply  re- 
peating hearsay.     So  many  lies  are  told  about  Him. 

-  He  hears  us.     Let  us  be  serious. 
[They  laugh  quietly. 

—  After  all,  I  'd  like  to  know  whether  it  Ml  be  a  boy 
or  a  girl. 

- 1  admit,  it  *s  interesting  to  know  whom  you  Ml 
have  to  deal  with. 

—  I  wish  it  died  before  it  was  born. 

—  What  a  kind  creature  you  are. 

—  No  better  than  you. 

—  I  hope  it  turns  out  to  be  a  general. 
[They  laugh. 

—  You  are  too  merry.    I  don't  like  it. 

—  And  you  are  too  sad.     I  don't  like  that. 

—  Don't  wrangle.     Don't  wrangle.     We  are  all  both 
sad    and    merry.     Let    each    be    what    she    pleases. 
(Silence) 

-When  they  are  born,  they  are  so  funny.     Babies 
are  very  funny. 

—  And  sclf-satisfi<  <!. 

—  And  very  exacting.    I  don't  like  them.     They  be- 
gin to  cry  at  once  and  make  demands,  as  if  they 


SCENE  i]  THE    LIFE    OF    MAN  163 

expected  everything  to  be  ready  for  them.  Even 
before  looking,  they  know  there  is  a  breast  and  milk, 
and  demand  them.  Then  they  demand  to  be  put  to 
sleep  and  rocked  and  dandled  and  patted  on  their 
red  backs.  I  like  them  better  when  they  die.  Then 
they  're  less  exacting.  They  stretch  out  of  them- 
selves and  don't  ask  to  be  rocked. 

—  No,  they  are  very  funny.     I  like  to  wash  them 
when  they  are  born. 

—  I  like  to  wash  them  when  they  are  dead. 

—  Don't  dispute.   Don't  dispute.    Each  will  have  her 
way.     One  will  wash  the  child  when  it  is  born,  an- 
other when  it  dies. 

—  But  why  do  they  think  they  have  a  right  to  make 
demands  the  moment  they  are  born?    I  don't  like  it. 
They  don't   think  they  have.     It 's  their  stomachs 
that  make  the  demands. 

—  They  're  forever  demanding. 

—  But  their  demands  are  never  granted. 

[The  Old  Women  laugh.     The  cries  begin  again. 

—  She  is  screaming  again. 

—  Animals  give  birth  to  their  offspring  more  easily. 

—  And  they  die  more  easily,  and  live  more  easily.     I 
have  a  cat.     You  ought  to  see  how  fat  and  happy 
she  is. 

—  I  have  a  dog,  and  I  tell  him  every  day :  "  You  are 
going  to  die."     His  only  reply  is  to  show  his  teeth 
and  to  wag  his  tail  gayly. 

—  But  they  are  animals. 

—  And  these  are  human  beings. 
[They  laugh. 

—  Now  she  '11  either  die  or  be  delivered.     I  feel  that 
the  whole  remnant  of  her  strength  is  in  that  wail. 


164  THE    LIFE    OF    MAN  [« 

—  Kvis  \\iili-  op.  ii. 

-      Cold  pi Tspiraliou  on  lu-r  fon-hrud. 
[They  listen. 

—  She  is  giving  birth  to  tlu-  child. 

—  No,  she  is  dying. 
[TVitf  criV*  cease. 

—  I  tell  you  — 

SO.MI  ONI  IN  i;i;  AY  (speaks  in  a  resonant,  powerful  voice) 
Silemv  !     Man  is  born. 

[Almost  simultaneously  with  His  announcement  the 
crying  of  an  infant  is  heard  ami  (lie  candle  in  I  I'm 
hand  lights.  A  tall  candle.  It  burns  hesitatingly 
and  feebly.  Gradually  the  flame  grows  stronger. 
The  corner  in  which  Someone  in  Gray  stands  motion- 
less is  ahcay.i  darker  than  the  other  corners,  and  the 
yellow  flame  illumines  His  blunt  eliin.  His  tii/fttl// 
closed  lips,  and  His  massive,  bout/  face.  The  upper 
part  of  His  face  is  concealed  by  His  cap.  He  is 
somewhat  taller  than  an  ordinary  man. 
He  puts  the  long,  thiek  eandlc  in  an  antitjne  candle- 
stick. His  hand  comes  into  relief  ayain.vt  the  green 
bronze.  It  is  gray,  firm,  with  lony,  thin  fingers. 
Gradually  the  room  grows  brighter.  The  figures  of 
five  hunch-backed  Old  Women  emerge  from  ths 
(/loom,  and  the  room  becomes  visible.  It  is  rectangu- 
lar, icith  high,  smooth,  monotonously  colored  walls. 
Two  curtainless  windows  in  the  background  and  two 
on  the  right.  The  night  glooms  through  them. 
Straight,  high-backed  chairs  against  the  walls. 

THE  OLD  WOMEN   (talking  rapidly} 

—  Hear  them  running  about.    They  're  coming 

—  How  bright  it  is!     Let  's  go. 

—  Look,  the  candle  is  tall  and  bright. 


SCENE  i]  THE    LIFE    OF    MAN  165 

—  Let 's  go,  let 's  go.     Quick ! 

—  But  we  '11  come  back.     We  '11  come  back. 
{They  laugh  quietly,  mockingly,  and  disappear  into 
the  dusk  with  odd,  zigzagging  movements.     As  they 
leave,  the  light  grows  brighter,  but  still  it  remains 
dim,  lifeless,  and  cold.    The  corner  in  which  Someone 
in  Gray  stands  motionless  with  the  burning  candle  is 
darker  than  the  others. 

Enter  the  Doctor  in  a  white  uniform,  and  Man's 
Father,  whose  face  wears  an  expression  of  extreme 
exhaustion  and  joy.  There  are  lines  under  his  eyes; 
his  cheeks  are  sunken  and  his  hair  is  dishevelled;  he 
is  very  negligently  dressed.  The  Doctor  looks  very 
learned. 

DOCTOR 

Up  to  the  very  last  moment  I  did  n't  know  whether 
your  wife  would  pull  through  or  not.  I  used  all  the 
means  at  the  disposal  of  medical  skill  and  science. 
But  science  can  do  very  little  unless  nature  helps 
too.  I  was  really  excited.  My  pulse  is  still  going 
hard.  Though  I  have  assisted  at  so  many  births, 
yet  I  can't  rid  myself  of  a  sense  of  uneasiness.  But 
you  are  not  listening  to  me,  sir. 

MAN'S  FATHER 

I  'm  listening,  but  I  can't  hear.  Her  screams  are 
still  ringing  in  my  ears,  and  it 's  hard  for  me  to  pull 
myself  together.  Poor  woman,  how  she  suffered! 
I  was  a  fool,  I  was  stupid  and  wanted  to  have  chil- 
dren. But  hereafter  I  will  renounce.  It  is  criminal. 

DOCTOR 

You  will  call  me  again  when  your  next  child  comes. 

FATHER 

No,  never.     I  'm  ashamed  to  admit  it,  but  just  now 


166  Tin:  i.iri-:  or  MAN        [SCENE  i 

I  Imti-  tin-  rhild  for  which  she  suffered  so.  I  did  n't 
.  \ni  sir  him.  What  sort  of  a  boy  is  he? 

DOCTOR 

llr  's  a  well-fed,  strong  little  youngster,  and  if  I  'm 
not  mistaken  he  resembles  you. 

FATHER 

Mr?  Fine!  Now  I'm  beginning  to  love  him.  I 
always  wanted  a  boy  to  look  like  me.  Did  you  see 

his  nose  is  like  mine,  isn't  it? 
DOCTOR 

Yes,  his  nose  and  eyes. 

FATHER 

His  eyes  too  ?    Ah,  that 's  good.    I  '11  raise  your  fee. 

DOCTOR 

You  '11  have  to  pay  me  for  using  the  instruments 
also. 

FATHER  (turning  to  the  corner  where  He  stands  mo- 
tionless) God,  I  thank  Thee  for  having  granted 
my  wish  and  given  me  a  son  who  resembles  me.  I 
thank  Thee  for  preserving  my  wife  from  death  and 
bringing  my  child  into  the  world  alive.  I  pray  Thee 
that  he  may  grow  up  big,  healthy,  and  strong;  that 
he  may  be  wise  and  honest,  and  that  he  may  never 
cause  us  grief,  but  be  a  constant  joy  to  his  mother 
and  me.  If  Thou  wilt  do  this,  I  will  always  believe 
in  Thee  and  go  to  church. 

[Enter  Helatiiws,  sir  in  number.  An  elderly  woman, 
uncommonly  stout,  with  a  double  chin  and  small, 
proud  eyes  and  an  air  of  extreme  htuif/h  tints*  and 
self-importance.  An  elderly  man,  her  husband,  very 
tall  and  uncommonly  thin,  so  that  his  coat  hangs 
loosely  on  his  body;  a  short  goatee,  long,  smooth 
hair,  as  if  wet,  reaching  to  his  shoulders;  eye- 


SCENE  i]  THE    LIFE    OF    MAN  167 

glasses;  has  a  frightened  yet  pedantic  expression; 
a  low  black  silk  hat  in  his  hand.  A  young  girl,  their 
daughter,  with  naively  upturned  nose,  blinking  eyes, 
and  open  mouth.  A  weazened  woman,  with  con- 
tracted features  and  a  sour  expression,  in  her  hand 
a  handkerchief,  with  which  she  frequently  wipes  her 
mouth.  Two  young  men,  looking  absolutely  alike, 
with  extremely  high  collars  that  stretch  their  necks; 
glossy  hair;  a  hesitating,  embarrassed  expression. 
The  characteristics  of  each  of  the  Relatives  is  ex- 
aggerated in  the  extreme. 

ELDERLY   LADY 

Let  me  congratulate  you  on  the  birth  of  your  son, 
dear  brother.  (Kisses  him) 

ELDERLY  MAN 

My  dear  brother,  I  heartily  congratulate  you  on 
the  birth  of  your  son,  to  which  you  have  been  looking 
forward  so  long.  (Kisses  him) 

THE  REST 

We  congratulate  you,  dear  uncle,  on  the  birth  of 
your  son. 

[They  kiss  him.    Exit  the  Doctor. 
MAN'S  FATHER  (greatly  moved) 

Thank  you !  Thank  you !  You  are  all  very  good, 
very  nice,  dear  people,  and  I  love  you  very  much. 
I  had  my  doubts  before,  and  thought  that  you,  dear 
sister,  were  a  little  too  much  rapt  up  in  yourself 
and  your  own  worth  and  importance ;  and  that  you, 
dear  brother,  were  somewhat  too  pedantic.  The  rest 
of  you  I  thought  were  too  cold  to  me,  and  came 
here  only  for  the  sake  of  the  dinners.  Now  I  see  I 
was  mistaken.  I  'm  very  happy.  I  get  a  son  who 
resembles  me,  and  then  all  at  once  I  see  myself 


168  THE    LIFE    OK    MAN  [SCENE  i 

surrounded  by  so  many  good  people  who  love  me. 
(Thfyltut) 

GIRL 

Uncle  dear,  what  are  you  going  to  call  your  son?  I 
hopr  YOU  '11  givr  him  u  lovely,  poetic  name.  So 
much  depends  on  a  man's  name. 

ELDERLY   LADY 

I  should  advise  a  simple,  solid  name.  Men  with  nice 
names  are  usually  frivolous  and  rarely  successful. 

ELDERLY   MAN 

It  seems  to  me,  brother,  you  should  name  your  son 
after  some  older  relative.  Keeping  the  same  names 
in  the  family  tends  to  preserve  and  strengthen  the 
line. 

FATHER 

Yes,  my  wife  and  I  have  already  discussed  the  sub- 
ject, but  have  not  been  able  to  reach  a  decision. 
You  see,  there  are  so  many  new  things  to  think  of 
when  a  child  comes,  so  many  new  problems  to  solve 
which  never  arose  before. 

ELDERLY  LADY 

It  fills  up  your  life. 

ELDERLY   MAN 

It  gives  life  a  beautiful  purpose.  By  properly  edu- 
cating a  child,  preventing  it  from  making  t lie- 
mistakes  which  we  had  to  pay  for  so  dearly,  and 
strengthening  its  mind  with  our  own  rich  experiences, 
we  produce  a  better  man  and  advance  slowly  but 
surely  toward  the  final  goal  of  existence,  which  is 
perfection. 

FATHKR 

You  arc  quite  ri^ht.  brother.  When  I  was  little  I 
loved  to  torture  anim-.N.  That  developed  cruelty 


SCENE  i]  THE    LIFE    OF    MAN  169 

in  me.  I  won't  allow  my  son  to  torture  animals. 
Even  after  I  had  grown  up  I  often  made  mistakes 
in  my  friendships  and  love.  I  chose  friends  who 
were  unworthy  and  women  who  were  faithless.  I  '11 
explain  to  my  son  — 
DOCTOR  (enters  and  says  aloud) 

Your  wife  is  feeling  very  bad.     She  wants  to  see  you. 

FATHER 

Oh,  my  God!     (He  and  the  Doctor  leave) 
[The  Relatives  seat  themselves  in  a  semicircle.     Sol- 
emn silence  for  a  time.     Someone  in  Gray  stands 
motionless   in    the   corner,   His   stony  face   turned 
toward  them. 
RELATIVES'  CONVERSATION 

—  Do  you  think,  dear,  she  may  die? 

—  No,  I  don't  think  so.     She  is  a  very  impatient 
woman  and  makes  too  much  of  her  pains.    All  women 
bear  children  and  none  of  them  die.    I  have  borne  six 
children. 

—  But  the  way  she  screamed,  mamma? 

—  Yes,   her    face    was    purple    from    screaming.      I 
noticed  it. 

—  Not  from  screaming,  but  from  laboring.  You 
don't  understand  about  these  things.  My  face  got 
purple  too,  but  I  did  n't  scream. 

—  Not  long  ago  an  acquaintance  of  mine,  the  civil 
engineer's  wife,  gave  birth  to  a  child,  and  she  scarcely 
made  a  sound. 

—  I  know.     There  's  no  need  for  my  brother  to  be  so 
upset.      One  must  be  firm  and  take  things  calmly. 
And  I  'm  afraid,  too,  he  '11  introduce  a  lot  of  his 
fantastic  notions  in  the  bringing  up  of  his  children 
and  indulge  their  every  whim. 


170  THE    LIFE    OF    MAN          [SCENE  i 

11«   *9  a  vrrv  \\rak  eharaeti  i\     lit-  has  little  enough 
mom  v,    r.nd   yet   he   lends    it    to    people    who   don't 
deserve  to  be  trusted. 
-Do  you  know  how  much  the  child's  layette  cost? 

—  Don't  talk  to  me  of  it!    It  gets  on  my  nerves,  my 
brother's  extravagance  does.     I  often  quarrel  with 
him  because  he  's  so  improvident. 

—  They  say  a  stork  brings  babies.     What  sort  of  a 
stork  is  it? 

[The  young  wen  burst  out  laughing. 

—  Don't  talk  nonsense.     I  gave  birth  to  five  children 
right  in  your  presence,  and  I  'm  no  stork,  thank  the 
Lord. 

[The  young  men  burst  our  laughing  aga'm.     The 
Elderly  Woman  eyes  them  long  and  sternly. 

—  It 's  only  a  superstition.     Children  are  born  in  an 
absolutely  natural  way,  firmly  established  by  science. 
Thcv  Ve  moved  to  new  quarters  now. 

—  Who? 

—  The  engineer  and  his  wife.     Their  old  place  was 
chilly  and  dump.     They  complained  to  the  landlord 
several  times,  but  he  paid  no  attention. 

-  I  think  it  's  better  to  live  in  a  small  place  that  's 
warm  than  in  a  large  place  that's  damp.  You  a  re- 
liable to  catch  your  death  of  cold  and  rheumatism 
if  you  live  in  a  damp  house. 

—  I  have  a  friend,  too,  who  lives  in  a  very  damp 
house.     And  I  too.    Very  damp. 

—  There  are  so  many  damp  places  nowadays. 

—  Tell  me,  please  —  I  've  been  wanting  to  ask  you  a 
long  time  —  how  do  you  remove  a  grease  stain  from 
light-colored  material? 

—  Woollen? 


SCENE  i]  THE    LIFE    OF    MAN  171 

—  No,  silk. 

[The  child's  crying  is  heard  behind  the  scene. 

—  Take  a  piece  of  ice  and  rub  it  on  the  spot  hard. 
Then  take  a  hot  iron  and  press  the  spot. 

—  No  ?     Fancy,  how  simple !     I  heard  benzine  was 
better. 

—  No,  benzine  is  good  for  dark  material.    For  light 
goods  ice  is  better. 

—  I  wonder  whether  smoking  is  allowed  here.     Some- 
how it  never  occurred  to  me  before  whether  one  may 
or    may    not    smoke    where    there    is    a    new-born 
baby. 

—  It  never  occurred  to  me  either.     How  strange !    I 
know   it   is  n't   proper   to    smoke    at   funerals,   but 
here  — 

—  Nonsense !     Of  course  you  may  smoke. 

—  Smoking  is  a  bad  habit  just  the  same.     You  are 
still   a  very   young  man   and   ought  to   take   good 
care  of  your  health.     There  are  many  occasions  in 
life  when  good  health  is  highly  essential. 

—  But  smoking  stimulates. 

—  Believe    me,    it 's    a    very    unhealthy    stimulant. 
When  I  was  young  and  reckless,  I  was  also  guilty  of 
using,  or  rather  abusing,  tobacco  — 

—  Mamma,  listen  to  him  crying.    My,  how  he  's  cry- 
ing!    Does  he  want  milk,  mamma? 

[The  yowng  men  burst  out  laughing.     The  Elderly 
Woman  looks  at  them  sternly. 

CUETAIN 


THE    SECOND    SCENE 
LOVE    AND    POVERTY 

The  entire  place  is  filed  with  a  warm,  J)  right  light. 
A  large,  very  poor  room,  high  KV///.V,  the  color  of  old 
rose,  covered  here  and  there  with  beautiful,  fantastic, 
roughly  drawn  designs.  To  the  right  are  two  lofty 
windows,  eight  panes  in  each,  with  the  darkness  of  night 
glooming  through  them.  Two  poor  beds,  two  chairs, 
and  a  bare  table,  on  which  stands  a  half-broken  pitcher 
of  water  and  a  pretty  bunch  of  flowers. 

In  the  darkest  corner  stands  Someone  in  Gray,  the 
candle  in  His  hand  now  reduced  by  a  third,  hut  the 
flame  still  very  bright,  high,  and  white.  It  throws  a 
powerful  light  on  His  face  and  chin. 

Enter  the  Neighbors,  dressed  in  light,  gay  dresses, 
their  hands  full  of  flowers,  grasses,  and  fresh  branches 
of  oak  and  birch.  They  run  about  the  room,  scatter- 
ing them.  Their  faces  are  merry,  simple,  and  good- 
nut  ured. 

NEIGHBORS'  CONVERSATION 

—  How  poor  they  are !    Look,  they  have  n't  even  a 
single  spare  chair. 

—  And  no  curtains  in  the  windows. 

<1  no  pictures  on  the  walls. 
-  How  poor  they  are !    All  they  eat  is  hard  bread. 


SCENE  n]          THE    LIFE    OF    MAN  173 

—  And  all  they  drink  is  water,  cold  water  from  the 
spring. 

—  They  don't  own  any  clothes  at  all  except  what 
they  have  on.     She  always  goes  about  in  her  rosy 
dress  with  her  neck  bare,  which  makes  her  look  like  a 
young  girl. 

—  And  he  wears  his  blouse  and  loose  necktie,  which 
makes  him  look  like  an  artist,  and  makes  the  dogs 
bark  at  him. 

—  And  makes  all  the  respectable  people  disapprove 
of  him. 

—  Dogs  hate  the  poor.    I  saw  three  dogs  attack  him 
yesterday.      He   beat    them    off   with    a    stick    and 
shouted :  "  Don't  you  dare  to  touch  my  trousers ; 
they  're  my  last  pair !  "     And  he  laughed,  and  the 
dogs  flung  themselves  at  him  and  showed  their  teeth 
and  barked  viciously. 

—  I  saw  two  respectable  people,  a  lady  and  a  gentle- 
man,  meet  him   on   the   street   to-day.     They  were 
terribly  frightened   and  crossed  to   the  other  side. 
"  He  '11  ask  for  money,"  said  the  gentleman.    "  He  '11 
kill  us,"  piped  the  lady.     From  the  other  side  of 
the  street  they  looked  back  at  him  and  held  on  to 
their  pockets.     He  shook  his  head  and  laughed. 

—  He  's  such  a  j  oily  good  fellow. 

—  They  're  always  laughing. 

—  And  singing. 

—  It 's  he  who  sings.     She  dances. 

—  In  her  rosy  dress,  with  her  little  bare  neck. 

—  It  does  one  good  to  look  at  them.     They  are  so 
young  and  wholesome. 

—  I  am  sorry  for  them.     They  're  starving.    Do  you 
understand  ?     They  're  actually  going  without  food. 


174  Till'.    I  II  I.    OF    MAN          [SCENE  n 

—  Y(»,  it  's  true.     They  had  IDOIV  clothes  uml  furni- 
ture,   but    they    sold    r\.rv    hit,    and    now    tiu-y'\. 
nothing  more  to  sell. 

—  I  know.     She  had  such  pretty  earrings,  and  she 
sold  them  to  buy  bread. 

—  He  had  a  beautiful  black  frock-coat,  the  one  in 
which  he  was  married,  and  he  sold  that  too. 

—  The  only  thing  they  have  left  is  their  engagement 
rings.     How  poor  they  are ! 

—  That 's  nothing.     I  was  once  young  myself,  and  I 
know  what  'it  is. 

—  What  did  you  say,  grandpa? 

—  I  said  it 's  nothing,  nothing  at  all. 

—  Look,  the  mere  thought  of  them  makes  grandpa 
want  to  sing. 

—  And  dance. 
[They  laugh. 

—  He  is  so  kind.    He  made  my  boy  a  bow  and  arrow. 

—  She  cried  with  me  when  my  daughter  was  ill. 

—  He   helped    me   mend    the   rickety   fence.      He 's 
strong. 

—  It's   nice   to  have  such   good   neighbors.      Their 
youth  warms  our  cold  old  age.    Their  jolliness  drives 
away  our  cares. 

—  But  their  room  is  like  a  prison,  it 's  so  empty. 

—  No,  it 's  like  a  temple.     It 's  so  bright. 

—  Look,  they  have  flowers  on  the  table,  the  flowers 
she  picked  on  her  walk  in  the  country  in  her  ro-y 
dress  with  her  little  bare  neck.     Here  are  lilies-of- 
the-valley.     The  dew  has  n't  dried  on  them  yet. 

—  There  is  the  burning  campion. 

—  And  violets. 

—  Don't  touch,  don't  touch  the  flowers,  girls.     Her 


SCENE  n]          THE    LIFE    OF    MAN  175 

kisses  are  upon  them.  Don't  throw  them  on  the 
floor,  girls.  Her  breath  is  upon  them.  Don't  blow 
them  away  with  your  breath.  Don't  touch,  don't 
touch  the  flowers,  girls. 

—  He  '11  come  and  he  '11  see  the  flowers. 

—  He  '11  take  the  kisses. 

—  He  '11  drink  her  breath. 

—  How  poor  they  are!     How  happy  they  are! 

—  Come,  let 's  leave. 

—  Have  n't   we   brought   our   dear   neighbors   any- 
thing? 

—  What  a  shame! 

—  I  brought  a  bottle  of  milk  and  a  piece  of  white, 
sweet-smelling  bread.      (Puts  them  on  the  table) 

—  I  brought  flowers.     (Scatters  them) 

—  We  brought  branches  of  oak  and  birch  with  green 
leaves.     Let 's  put  them  up  around  the  walls.     The 
room  will  look  like  cheerful  green  woods. 

[They  decorate  the  room  with  the  branches,  con- 
cealing the  dark  windows  and  covering  the  pinkish 
nakedness  of  the  walls  with  leaves. 

—  I  brought  a  good  cigar.    It  is  a  cheap  one,  but  it 's 
strong  and  fragrant  and  will  give  pleasant  dreams. 

—  And  I  brought  a  ribbon,  a  red  ribbon.    It  makes  a 
very  pretty  fancy  bow  for  the  hair.     It 's  a  present 
my  sweetheart  gave  me ;   but  I  have  so  many  ribbons 
and  she  has  n't  even  one. 

-What  did  you  bring,  grandpa?     Did  you  bring 
anything? 

—  Nothing,  nothing,  except  my  cough.     They  don't 
want  that,  do  they,  neighbor? 

—  No  more  than  they  want  my  crutches.    Hey,  girls, 
who  wants  my  crutches? 


176  THI-:   i. in:  or   .\i.\\        |,« 

—  Do  you  remember,  neighbor? 
-Do  you,  remember,  neighbor? 

—  Come,  let's  go  to  sleep,  neighbor.     It's  late  al- 
ready.     (They  sigh    and   lf/rtr,    one   coughiny,    tin- 
other  knocking  the  floor  with  his  crutches) 

—  Come,  come ! 

—  May  God  give  them  happiness.     They  are  Midi 
good  neighbors. 

—  God  grant  that  they  may  always  be  healthy  ;m<l 
merry  and  always  love  each  other.      And   may   the 
hideous  black  cut  never  pass  between  them. 

—  And  may  the  good  man  find  work.     It 's  bad  when 
a  man  is  out  of  work.     (They  leave) 

[Enter  immediately  the  Wife  of  Man,  very  pretty, 
graceful,  and  dclicctc,  wearing  flowers  in  her  luxuri- 
ant hair  which  is  hanging  loose.  The  expression  on 
her  face  is  very  sad.  She  seats  herself  on  a  chair, 
folds  her  hands  in  her  lap,  and  speaks  in  a  sad  tone, 
turned  toward  the  audience. 
MAN'S  WIFE 

I  've  just  returned  from  the  city,  where  I  went  look- 
ing for  I  don't  know  what.  We  are  so  poor,  we  ha\v 
nothing,  and  it 's  very  hard  for  us  to  live.  We  need 
money,  and  I  don't  know  how  in  the  world  to  get  it. 
People  won't  give  it  to  you  for  the  asking,  and  I 
have  n't  the  strength  to  take  it  away  from  them.  I 
was  looking  for  work,  but  I  can't  get  work  cither. 
There  are  lots  of  people  and  little  work,  they  say. 
I  looked  on  the  ground  as  I  walked  to  see  if  some 
rich  person  had  n't  lost  his  purse,  but  either  nobody 
had  lost  one  or  somebody  luckier  than  I  had  already 
picked  it  up.  I  feel  so  sad.  My  husband  will  soon 
come  from  his  search  for  work,  tired  and  hungry. 


SCENE  n]          THE    LIFE    OF    MAN  177 

What  am  I  to  give  him  except  my  kisses?  But  you 
can't  satisfy  your  hunger  on  kisses.  I  feel  so  sad 
I  could  cry. 

I  can  go  without  eating  for  a  long  time  and  not  feel 
it,  but  he  can't.  He  has  a  large  body  which  de- 
mands food,  and  when  he  's  gone  a  long  time  without 
it,  he  gets  pale,  sick,  and  excited.  He  scolds  me 
and  then  begs  me  not  to  be  angry  at  him.  I  never 
am  angry  at  him,  because  I  love  him  dearly.  It  only 
makes  me  feel  so  sad. 

My  husband  is  a  very  talented  architect.  I  even 
think  he  's  a  genius.  He  was  left  an  orphan  when 
a  mere  boy,  and  after  his  parents'  death  his  relatives 
supported  him  for  some  time;  but  as  he  was  always 
of  an  independent  nature,  sharp  in  his  talk  and 
prone  to  make  unpleasant  remarks,  and  as  he  showed 
them  no  gratitude,  they  dropped  him.  He  continued 
to  study,  nevertheless,  supporting  himself  by  giving 
lessons,  and  so  made  his  way  through  college.  He 
often  went  hungry,  my  poor  husband.  Now  he  is 
an  architect  and  draws  plans  of  beautiful  buildings, 
but  no  one  wants  to  buy  them,  and  many  stupid  per- 
sons make  fun  of  them  even.  To  make  one's  way  in 
the  world  one  must  have  either  patrons  or  luck.  He 
has  neither.  So  he  goes  about  looking  for  a  chance, 
and  maybe  with  his  eyes  on  the  ground  looking  for 
money  like  me.  He  is  still  very  young  and  simple. 
Of  course,  some  day  fortune  will  come  to  us,  too. 
But  when  will  it  be  ?  In  the  meantime  it 's  very  hard 
to  live.  When  we  were  married  we  had  a  little  prop- 
erty, but  we  soon  spent  it.  We  went  to  the  theatre 
and  ate  candy.  He  still  has  hopes,  but  I  sometimes 
lose  all  hope  and  cry  to  myself.  My  heart  breaks 


178  THE    MIT,    OF    M.\\          [SCENE  n 

when  I  think  he'll  he  here  soon  and  I  l::i\r  nothing 
to  give  him  again  except  my  poor  ki 

0  God,  be  a  kind,  merciful  Father  to  us.     You  have 
so  much  of  everything,  bread  and  work  and  money. 
Your  earth  is  so  rich.     She  grows  corn  and  fruit  in 
her    fields,    covers    the    meadows    with    flowers,    and 
yields  gold  and  beautiful   precious  stones   from   her 
bowels.     And  your  sun  has  so  much  warmth,  and 
your  pensive  stars  have  so  much  quiet  joy.     (Jive  u^, 

1  pray  you,  a  little  from  your  abundance,  just  a 
little,  as  much  as   you   give  your  birds.      A  little 
bread,  so  that  my  dear  good  husband  may  not  be 
hungry;   a  little  warmth,  so  that  he  may  not  be  cold  ; 
and  a  little  work,  so  that  he  may  carry  his  beautiful 
head  erect.     And  please  do  not  be  angry  with  my 
husband  because  he  swears  so  and  laughs,  and  c\<  n 
sings  and  makes  me  dance.     He  is  so  young  and  not 
a  bit  staid  or  serious. 

Now,  after  I  have  prayed,  I  feel  relieved  and  hopeful 
again.  Why,  indeed,-  should  God  not  grant  one's 
request  when  one  asks  Him  for  it  so  earnestly?  I  '11 
go  and  hunt  a  little  to  see  if  somebody  has  n't 
dropped  a  purse  or  a  diamond.  (Exit) 

SOMEONE  IN  GRAY 

She  knows  not  that  her  wish  has  already  been  ful- 
filled. She  knows  not  that  this  morning  two  men  in 
a  rich  house  were  bending  eagerly  over  a  sketch  by 
Man  and  were  delighted  with  it.  They  searched  for 
Man  the  whole  day;  wealth  was  looking  for  him  as 
he  was  looking  for  wealth.  And  to-morrow  morning, 
after  the  neighbors  have  gone  to  work,  an  automobile 
will  stop  in  front  of  this  house,  and  two  men  bending 
low  will  enter  the  poor  room  and  bring  wealth  and 


SCENE  n]          THE    LIFE    OF    MAN  179 

fame.  But  neither  he  nor  she  knows  it.  Thus 
fortune  will  come  to  Man,  and  thus  also  it  will  go. 
[Enter  Man  and  his  Wife.  He  has  a  beautiful  proud 
head,  bright  eyes,  a  high  forehead,  dark  eyebrows 
partmg  at  the  root  of  the  nose  Wee  two  bold  wings, 
and  wavy  black  hair  carelessly  tossed  back.  A  low, 
white,  turndown  collar  reveals  a  well-formed  neck 
and  part  of  his  chest.  He  is  light  and  quick  in  his 
movements,  like  a  young  animal. 

MAN 

Nothing  again.  I  '11  lie  down  and  remain  in  bed  the 
whole  day.  Anyone  wanting  me  will  have  to  come 
here.  I  can't  go  to  him.  I  '11  stay  in  bed  the  whole 
of  to-morrow  too. 

WIFE 

Are  you  tired? 

MAN 

Yes,  I  'm  tired  and  hungry.  I  could  eat  a  whole  ox, 
like  the  Homeric  hero,  but  I  shall  have  to  content 
myself  with  a  piece  of  hard  bread.  Don't  you  know 
that  a  man  can't  live  all  the  time  on  bread  alone? 
I  want  to  tear,  bite,  chew! 

WIFE 

I  'm   sorry   for  you,  dear. 

MAN 

I  'm  sorry  for  myself,  but  that  does  n't  satisfy  my 
hunger.  I  stood  a  whole  hour  in  front  of  a  res- 
taurant to-day,  looking  at  the  chickens,  pastry,  and 
sausages,  as  people  look  at  works  of  art.  And  then 
the  signs.  They  describe  ham  so  well  that  you 
could  eat  sign  and  all. 
WIFE 

I  like  ham  too. 


iso  Tin:   MIT.   or    M  \\        [go 

MAX 

Who  doesn't  like  ham?  How  about  lobster?  Do 
von  like  lobster? 

Sfo, 

MAN 

You  should  have  seen  the  lobster  I  saw.  It  was  a 
painted  one,  but  it  was  even  more  beautiful  than  a 
live  one.  Red  like  a  cardinal,  majestic,  stern.  You 
could  knrrl  down  and  do  homage  to  it.  I  think  I 
could  eat  two  such  cardinals  and  a  priest  of  a  carp 
besides. 

(AY//////) 

You  did  n't  see  my  flowers,  did  you? 

MAN 

Flowers?    You  can't  eat  flowers,  can  you? 
WIFE 

You  don't  love  me. 
MAN  (kisses  Ji<  r) 

Excuse  me,  but  really  I  'm  so  hungry.     Look,  my 

hands  are  trembling  and  I  haven't  even  the  strength 

to  throw  a  stone  at  a  dog. 
WITH  (kisses  his  hand) 

My  poor  husband ! 

MAN 

Where   do    those    leaves    on    the    floor    come    from? 
They  smell  so  good.     Is  that  your  work  too? 
WIFE 

No,  the  neighbors  must  have  done  it. 

MAN 

Fine  people  our  neighbors  are.  It 's  strange,  there 
are  so  many  good  people  in  the  world,  and  yet  a 
man  can  die  of  hunger.  Why  is  it? 


SCENE  n]          THE    LIFE    OF    MAN  181 

WIFE 

You  've  turned  so  sad.  Your  face  is  growing  pale. 
What  is  the  matter?  Do  you  see  anything? 

MAN 

Yes,  as  I  was  joking,  the  terrible  image  of  poverty 
glided  in  front  of  me  and  stopped  there,  in  the 
corner.  Do  you  see  it?  Arms  stretched  out  in  com- 
plaint, a  child  abandoned  in  the  woods,  a  praying 
voice,  and  the  stillness  of  a  human  desert.  Help! 
No  one  hears.  Help,  I  'm  dying !  No  one  hears. 
Look,  wife,  look!  See  the  dark,  gloomy  shadows 
there,  quivering  and  rising  like  black  smoke  from  a 
long,  terrible  chimney  leading  into  hell.  Look! 
And  I  'm  in  the  midst  of  them ! 

WIFE 

I  'm  afraid.  I  can't  look  in  that  dark  corner.  Did 
you  see  all  that  in  the  street? 

MAN 

Yes,  I  saw  it  in  the  street,  and  soon  it  '11  be  that 
way  with  us. 

WIFE 

No,  God  will  not  permit  it. 

MAN 

Then  why  does  He  permit  it  to  happen  to  others? 
WIFE 

We  're  better   than   others.      We   are  good  people. 

We  never  offend  Him. 
MAN 

You  think  so?     I  do  a  lot  of  swearing. 
WIFE 

You  're  not  bad. 
MAN 

Yes,  I  am  bad.     When  I  walk  along  the  street  and 


182  THE    LIFE    OF    MAN         [SCENE  n 

see  all  the  things  that  don't  belong  to  us,  I  feel  as 
if  I  had  tusks  like  a  boar.  Oh,  how  iniu-h  money 
I  haven't  got!  Listen,  my  dear  wife.  I  was  walk- 
ing in  the  park  to-day,  that  lovely  p.-irk,  uhere  tin- 
paths  arc  straight  as  arrows  and  the  beech-trees  like 
kings  wearing  crowns  — 

WIFE 

And  I  was  walking  in  the  city  streets.  Shops  every- 
where, such  beautiful  shops! 

MAN 

I  saw  men,  beautifully  dressed,  carrying  canes,  and 
I  thought:  "I  haven't  anything  like  that." 

WIFE 

I  saw  elegantly  dressed  women,  wearing  dainty  shoes 
that  make  your  feet  beautiful,  and  pretty  hats  from 
under  which  your  eyes  shim-  impenetrably,  and  silk 
skirts  that  make  such  a  mysterious  rustle;  and  I 
thought :  "  I  have  n't  a  good  hat  or  a  silk  skirt." 

1(AN 

A  ruffian  jostled  me.     I  showed  him  my  tusks,  and 
he  fled  in  disgrace  to  hide  himself  in  the  crowd. 
WIFE 

A  well-dressed  lady  jostled  me,  but  I  did  n't  even 
look  at  her,  I  felt  so  embarrassed. 

MAX 

.Men  rode  by  on  proud,  fiery  horses.     And  I  have 

nothing  like  that. 
WIFE 

She  had  diamonds  in  her  ears.    You  felt  like  kissing 

them. 
M  \  N 

ll'd   and  green  automobiles  glided   past   noiselessly 

like  phantoms  with  burning  eyes,  an<l  people  sat  in 


SCENE  n]          THE    LIFE    OF    MAN  183 

them  and  laughed  and  looked  lazily  from  one  side 
to  the  other.     And  I  have  nothing  like  it. 
WIFE 

And  I  have  no  diamonds,  no  emeralds,  no  pure  white 
pearls. 

MAN 

I  saw  a  fine  restaurant  on  the  Island.  It  was 
brightly  illuminated,  like  heaven,  and  they  were  eat- 
ing there.  Black-coated  monsters  carried  around 
butter  and  bread  and  wine  and  beer,  and  people  ate 
and  drank.  My  little  wife,  I  'm  hungry !  I  want 
something  to  eat! 
WIFE 

Dearie,  you  're  running  around  all  the  time,  and 
that  makes  you  still  hungrier.  You  'd  better  sit 
down.  I  '11  kneel  beside  you,  and  you  can  take  a 
piece  of  paper  and  draw  a  beautiful,  beautiful 
building. 

MAN 

My  inspiration  is  also  hungry.  It  draws  nothing 
but  edible  landscapes.  My  palaces  are  like  portly 
cakes  with  fat  stuffing,  and  my  churches  like  sau- 
sages. But  I  see  tears  in  your  eyes.  What  is  it, 
my  dear  wife? 
WIFE 

I  feel  so  miserable  not  to  be  able  to  help  you. 

MAN 

You  make  me  ashamed  of  myself.  I  am  a  strong 
man  with  a  good  mind;  I  am  able,  talented,  and 
healthy,  and  yet  I  can't  do  a  thing.  My  dear  wife, 
my  little  fairy  is  crying,  and  I  am  not  able  to  help 
her.  A  woman's  tears  are  her  husband's  disgrace. 
I  am  ashamed. 


L84  THE    LIFK    or    MAN         [SCK.XI    n 

\MI    I 

But  it  isn't  your  fault  that  people  don't  appreeiate 
you. 

MAN 

M  v  i  ars  are  burning  just  as  they  used  to  when  I  was 
a   boy   and   had   had   them   boxed.      Why,   you   are 
hungry  too,  and  I,  egoist  that  I  am,  have  n't  noticed 
it.     It  *s  mean  of  me. 
WIFE 

My  dear,  I  don't  feel  hungry. 

MAN 

It 's   unfair,   it 's  contemptible.     That   ruffian   who 
jostled  me  was  right.     He  saw  I  was  a  fat  pig  and 
that 's   all,  a  boar  with  sharp   tusks  but   a  stupid 
head. 
WIFE 

If  you  are  going  to  keep  on  reproaching  yourself, 
I  '11  cry  again. 

MAN 

Don't,  don't.  No  tears !  Tears  in  your  eyes  frighten 
me.  I  am  afraid  of  those  shining  crystal  drops,  as 
if  some  other,  some  terrible  person  were  shedding 
them,  not  you.  I  won't  let  you  cry.  We  have 
nothing,  we  are  poor.  But  I  '11  tell  you  of  what  we 
are  going  to  have.  I  will  charm  you  with  a  bright 
fairy  tale,  my  queen.  I  will  array  you  in  dazzling 
dreams  as  in  roses! 

You  must  n't  be  afraid.  You  are  strong,  you  are  a 
genius,  you  will  conquer.  Your  momentary  despair 
will  pass  away,  and  divine  inspiration  will  again 
quicken  your  proud  head. 


SCENE  n]          THE    LIFE    OF    MAN  185 

MAN  {assumes  a  challenging  attitude  and  throws  an 
oak  leaf  into  the  corner  where  the  Unknown  stands, 
saying)  Ho,  you,  whatever  your  name,  Fate,  Devil, 
or  Life,  I  fling  my  glove  down  before  you,  I  challenge 
you  to  combat !  The  poor  in  spirit  bow  before  your 
enigmatic  power.  Your  stony  face  inspires  them 
with  fear ;  in  your  silence  they  hear  the  approaching 
tread  of  misery  and  terrible  ruin.  But  I  am  strong 
and  bold,  and  I  challenge  you  to  combat !  Come  on ! 
Let  the  swords  glitter,  the  shields  clang!  Deal  and 
receive  blows  so  that  the  earth  trembles !  Ho,  come 
forth  to  battle ! 

WIFE  (nestling  up  at  his  left,  somewhat  behind,  speak- 
ing solemnly)  Bolder,  my  husband,  still  bolder! 

MAN 

To  your  evil-boding  inaction  I  oppose  my  living, 
daring  strength;  to  your  gloom  my  clear,  resonant 
laugh !  Ho,  repel  the  blows !  You  have  a  stone 
brow,  devoid  of  reason.  I  will  throw  the  glowing 
balls  of  my  sparkling  thought  at  it.  You  have  a 
stone  heart,  devoid  of  pity.  Take  care,  I  will  pour 
into  it  the  poison  of  my  rebellious  outcries.  The 
dark  cloud  of  your  grim  wrath  overshadows  the  sun. 
We  will  light  the  darkness  with  our  swords.  Ho, 
repel  the  blows ! 

WIFE 

Bolder,  still  bolder,  my  proud  knight!  Your  squire 
is  behind  you. 

MAN 

Victorious,  I  will  sing  songs  which  the  whole  world 
will  reecho;  fallen  under  your  blows,  my  only 
thought  shall  be  to  rise  again  and  rush  into  battle. 
There  are  weak  spots  in  my  armor,  but  when  my 


186  THE    LIFE    OF    MAN          [SCENT.  11 

red  Mood  is  flowing,  I  will  gather  my  hist  strength 
and  cry:  "You  have  not  conquered,  evil  I'minv  of 
Man!" 

WIFE 

Bolder,  my  knight!  I  will  wash  your  wounds  with 
my  tears.  I  will  stop  the  flow  of  your  red  blood 
with  my  kisses. 

MAN 

And  dying  on  the  field  of  battle  as  the  brave  die,  with 
one  cry  I  will  destroy  your  blind  joy:  "I  have 
conquered ! "  I  have  conquered,  O  cruel  Enemy. 
Unto  my  last  breath  I  did  not  recognize  your  power! 
WIFE 

Bolder,  my  knight,  bolder !    I  will  die  beside  you. 

MAN 

Ho,  come  forth  to  battle!  Let  the  swords  glitter, 
the  shields  clang!  Deal  and  receive  blows  to  make 
the  earth  tremble!  Ho,  come  forth! 
[For  some  time  Man  and  his  Wife  remain  in  tJic 
tame  posture;  then  they  turn  around,  fticiny  cucli 
other,  and  kiss. 

MAN 

That 's  the  way  we'll  deal  with  life,  my  dear,  won't 
we?    Let  it  frown  like  a  blind  owl  in  the  sun  —  we  '11 
compel  it  to  smile. 
WIFE 

And  to  dance  to  our  songs  —  so  we  will,  we  two. 

MAN 

We  two.  You  're  a  good  wife,  you  're  my  true 
friend,  you  're  a  brave  little  woman,  and  as  long  as 
you  are  with  me  I  fear  nothing.  Poverty,  what  does 
it  amount  to?  To-day  we're  poor,  to-morrow  rich. 


SCENE  n]          THE    LIFE    OF    MAN  187 

WIFE 

And  what  is  hunger?  To-day  we  are  hungry,  to- 
morrow satisfied. 

MAN 

Do  you  think  so?  It 's  quite  possible.  But  I  '11  eat 
a  lot.  I  shall  need  so  much  to  satisfy  my  hunger. 
Tell  me,  do  you  think  this  will  prove  enough?  In 
the  morning,  tea  or  coffee  or  chocolate.  You  can 
have  your  choice.  It 's  free.  Then  a  breakfast  of 
three  courses,  then  lunch,  then  dinner,  then  — 

WIFE 

More  fruit.     I  like  fruit. 

MAN 

Very  well.  I  '11  buy  fruit  by  the  barrel,  direct  from 
the  wholesale  market.  It 's  cheaper  and  fresher. 
Besides,  we  '11  have  our  own  garden. 

WIFE 

But  we  have  no  land. 

MAN 

I  '11  buy  land.  I  've  always  wanted  to  have  my  own 
piece  of  land.  By  the  way,  I  '11  build  a  house  for  us 
and  design  it  too.  Let  the  rascals  see  what  sort 
of  an  architect  I  am. 

WIFE 

I  should  like  to  live  in  Italy,  close  by  the  sea;  in  a 
white  marble  villa  in  a  grove  of  lemons  and  cypresses, 
with  marble  steps  leading  straight  down  to  the  blue 
water. 

MAN 

I  understand.  That 's  all  right.  But  I  intend,  be- 
sides, to  build  a  castle  in  the  mountains  of  Norway. 
Below,  the  fjord;  and  above,  on  the  steep  mountain, 


iss  THE    LIFE    OF    MAN 

thr  cast  It-.  \Ve  have  no  paper.  But  look,  I  Ml  show- 
it  to  you  on  the  wall  here.  Here  is  the  fjord,  you 

WIFE 

Yes,  beautiful. 

MAN 

Here,  sparkling  blue  water  gently  beating  against 
tin-  green  grass;  here,  beautiful  cinnamon-colon  .1 
stone;  and  there,  in  the  recess,  where  this  spot  is,  a 
bit  of  blue  sky  and  serene  white  clouds. 

Look,  there  is  a  white  boat  floating  on  the  water  — 
it  looks  like  two  swans  swimming  side  by  side. 

MAN 

And  up  there  rises  the  mountain.     Bright  and  green 
below,  it  turns  gloomier  and  sterner  as  it  ascends  — 
rugged   crags,  dark   shadows,   fallen   boulders,   and 
patches  of  clouds. 
WIFE 

Like  a  mined  castle. 

MAX 

And  there,   on   that  spot  —  the   middle  one  —  I  '11 
build  my  royal  castle. 
WIFE 

It 's  cold  up  there,  and  windy. 

MAN 

I  '11  have  thick  stone  walls  and  large  windows  with 
all  the  panes  made  out  of  a  single  piece  of  glass. 
At  night,  when  the  winter  snowstorms  begin  to  rage 
and  the  fjord  below  to  roar,  we  '11  draw  the  curtains 
and  make  a  fire  in  the  huge  fireplace.  It  is  such  a 
tremendous  fireplace  that  it  will  hold  a  whole  log. 
It  will  burn  up  a  whole  forest  of  pines. 


SCENE  n]          THE    LIFE    OF    MAN  189 

WIFE 

How  nice  and  warm.' 

MAN 

And  how  quiet  too,  if  you  will  please  notice.  Car- 
pets covering  the  whole  floor  and  lots  of  books  will 
make  it  cosy  and  quietly  lively.  And  we  '11  be  there, 
the  two  of  us.  The  wind  howling  outside  and  we  two 
sitting  before  the  fireplace  on  a  white  bear-skin  rug. 
"  Would  n't  you  like  to  have  a  look  at  what 's  doing 
outside?"  you'll  say.  "All  right!"  And  we'll 
go  to  the  largest  window  and  draw  aside  the  curtain. 
Good  heavens!  What  a  sight! 

WIFE 

See  the  snow  whirling. 

MAN 

Galloping  like  white  horses,  like  myriads  of  fright- 
ened little  spirits,  pale  with  fear  and  seeking  safety 
in  the  night.  And  what  a  howling  and  roaring! 

WIFE 

Oh,  it 's  cold.     I  'm  shivering. 

MAN 

Go  back  to  the  fireplace,  quick!  Hey  there,  fetch 
me  grandfather's  goblet  —  not  that  one,  the  golden 
one  from  which  the  vikings  drank.  Fill  it  up  with 
sparkling  wine  —  not  that  way  —  fill  it  to  the  brim 
with  the  burning  draught.  Venison  is  roasting  on 
the  spit.  Bring  it  here.  I  '11  eat  some.  Quick,  or 
I  '11  eat  you.  I  'm  hungry  as  the  devil. 

WIFE 

There,  they  have  brought  it.     Now,  go  on. 

MAN 

Go  on?  I  '11  eat  some,  of  course.  What  else  do  you 
expect  ?  What  are  you  doing  to  my  head,  little  wife  ? 


190  THE    LIFE    OF    MAN          [sci 

\\  1 1  i 

I  am  the  goddess  of  fame.  I  have  woven  a  crown  of 
the  oak  Ir.-m-s  tfuit  our  neighbors  scald nd  In  iv,  and 
I'm  crowning  you.  It's  F.um  tlmt  has  come  to 
von,  tin-  bountiful  goddess  Fame.  (Puts  the  wreath 
on  hit  head) 

MAN 

Yts,   fame;    loud,  noisy   fame.     Look  at   the  wall. 

Do  you  see  this?    It's  I,  walking.     And  who  is  this 

next  to  me?    Do  you  see? 
\v  1 1  i : 

I. 
MAN 

Look,  they  are  bowing  to  us;  they  are  whispering 
about  us;  they  are  pointing  their  fingers  at  us. 
There  is  a  venerable  old  gentleman  saying  with  tears 
in  his  eyes :  "  Happy  the  land  that  has  such  chil- 
dren !  "  See  how  pale  this  youth  here  has  turned. 
Fame  looked  at  him  and  gave  him  a  smile.  That 's 
after  I  built  the  People's  House,  which  is  the  pridi- 
of  the  whole  country. 
WIFE 

You  are  my  famous  husband.  The  oak  wreath  suits 
you  so  well.  A  laurel  wreath  would  become  you  still 
better. 

MAN 

Look,  look,   there  come   the  representatives  of  the 
city  where  I  was  born.     They  bow  to  me  and  say: 
**  Our  city  is  proud  of  the  honor  — 
WIFE 
Oh! 

MAN 

What  is  it? 


SCENE  n]          THE    LIFE    OF    MAN  191 

WIFE 

I  found  a  bottle  of  milk. 

MAN 

Impossible ! 
WIFE 

And  bread,  soft,  sweet-smelling  bread.    And  a  cigar. 
MAN 

Impossible !     You  are  mistaken.     It 's  the  dampness 

from  that  damned  wall,  that 's  what  it  is.     It  is  n't 

milk. 
WIFE 

But  it  is. 
MAN 

A  cigar?     Cigars  don't  grow  on  windows.     They  are 

sold  for  fortunes  in  tobacco  stores.     It 's  a  black 

stick,  a  piece  of  a  branch,  I  'm  sure. 
WIFE 

Look  and  see.     I  suppose  our  neighbors  brought  it. 

MAN 

Our  neighbors  ?  I  tell  you  they  're  people  —  they  're 
not  human  —  they  're  divine.  But  even  if  the  devil 
himself  brought  it  —  quick,  give  it  here,  my  sweet 
little  wife. 

[Man's  Wife  seats  herself  on  his  knees,  and  so  they 
eat.  She  breaks  off  pieces  of  bread  and  puts  them 
in  his  mouth.  He  feeds  her  the  milk  from  the  bottle. 

MAN 

Seems  to  be  cream. 
WIFE 

No,  it  5s  milk.    Chew  better.    You  '11  choke. 
MAN 

Give  me  the  crust.    It 's  so  brown. 


THE    LIFE    OF    MAN         [BCF.N.    .. 

\\1KK 

I  told  you,  you  'd  choke. 

MAN 

No,  it  went  down.     I  swallowed  it. 
WIFE 

The  milk  is  running  down  my  chin  and  neck.  Oh, 
it  *s  tickling  inc. 

MAN 

Lean  over.     I  '11  lick  it  off.     We  must  n't  let  a  drop 
go  to  waste. 
WIFE 

You  're  a  cunning  one. 

MAN 

There !  Quick  work.  All  good  things  soon  come  to 
an  end.  This  bottle  seems  to  have  a  double  bottom. 
It  looks  so  large.  The  glass  maim  fact  urers  are 
terrible  cheats. 

[He  lights  the  cigar  with  the  air  of  a  man  rclu  r'uuj 
into  beatific  repose.  His  Wife  ties  the  red  rihhon 
in  her  hair,  looking  at  herself  in  the  dark  pane  of  the 
-cindow. 

WIFE 

Don't  you  see? 

MAN 

I  see  everything.     I  see  your  ribbon,  and  I  sec  you 
want  me  to  kiss  you  on  your  dear  little  bare  neck. 
WIFE 

No,  sir,  I  won't  permit  that.  You  've  grown  too 
forward  of  late  anyway.  You  take  Mich  liberties. 
Please  go  on  smoking  your  cigar  and  leave  my 
neck  — 

MAN 

What,    isn't    your    neck    mine?     I'll    be    jiggered! 


SCENE  n]          THE    LIFE    OF    MAN  193 

Why,  it 's  an  attack  on  the  sacred  rights  of  prop- 
erty! (She  runs  away;  he  catches  Tier  and  kisses 
her)  So,  the  property  rights  have  been  restored. 
Now,  my  dear,  we  '11  dance.  Imagine  that  this  is  a 
magnificent,  a  luxurious,  a  wonderful,  a  super- 
natural, an  exquisitely  beautiful  palace. 
WIFE 

Very  welL  I  'm  imagining  it. 

MAN 

Imagine  you  're  the  queen  of  the  ball. 

WIFE 

All  right.     It  is  imagined. 

MAN 

And  that  counts,  marquises,  and  dukes  come  up  and 
ask  you  to  dance.  But  you  refuse.  You  choose 
that  one—  What's  his  name?  —  the  one  in  uni- 
form—  the  prince.  What's  the  matter? 

WIFE 

I  don't  like  princes. 

MAN 

Indeed?     Then  whom  do  you  like? 

WIFE 

Talented  artists. 

MAN 

Very  well.  Here  's  one  for  you.  Why,  girl,  what 
are  you  doing ?  Are  you  flirting  with  the  air? 

WIFE 

I  am  imagining. 

MAN 

All  right.  Imagine  a  wonderful  orchestra.  Here  is 
the  Turkish  drum  —  boom,  boom,  boom !  (He 
strikes  his  fist  on  the  table  as  on  a  drum) 


194  TIM:    i, in:   OF   MAN 

Why,  dear,  it  *s  only  in  the  circus  that  they  attract 
crowds  by  beating  drums,  but  in  a  palace  — 

MAN 

Oh,  hang  it!  Stop  imagining  that,  then.  Now 
imagine  something  else.  The  violins  are  playing  a 
inrlodious  plaint;  the  flutes  are  singing  gently;  the 
double  bass  drones  like  a  beetle. 
[Man  sits  down,  still  wearing  hit  oak  wreath,  and 
strikes  up  a  dance  tune,  clap  ping  hit  hands  in  ac- 
companiment. The  melody  if  the  same  as  in  tin- 
next  scene  at  Mans  hall.  The  Wife  dances.  She  is 
well-formed  and  graceful. 

MAX 

Oh,  you  darling! 
WIFE 

I  am  the  queen  of  the  ball. 

[The  song  and  dance  grow  ever  jollier.  Man  rises 
sloicli/  ami  begins  to  dance  lightly  on  the  spot  where 
he  is  standing;  then  he  seizes  his  Wife  and  dances 
with  her.  The  oak  wreath  slips  to  one  side. 
Someone  in  Gray  looks  on  indifferently,  the  candle 
burning  bright! //  in  his  petrified  hand. 

CURTAIN 


THE    THIRD    SCENE 
A   BALL    AT    MAN'S    HOUSE 

The  ball  is  in  the  drawing-room  of  Man's  large 
mansion.  It  is  a  very  lofty,  spacious,  perfectly  rectan- 
gular room.  The  floor  is  bright  and  smooth.  There 
is  a  certain  irregularity  about  the  room  due  to  the 
disproportionate  size  of  the  parts.  Thus,  the  doors 
are  very  small  in  proportion  to  the  windows.  This 
produces  a  strange,  irritating  impression,  as  of  some- 
thing disharmonious,  something  lacking,  and  also  of 
something  superfluous  and  adventitious.  The  whole  is 
pervaded  by  a  chilly  white,  the  monotony  of  which  is 
broken  only  by  a  row  of  windows  in  the  rear  wall.  They 
are  very  high,  reaching  almost  to  the  ceiling,  and 
dense  with  the  blackness  of  night.  Not  one  gleam, 
not  a  bright  spot  shows  in  the  blank  spaces  between 
the  window  frames.  Man's  wealth  shows  in  the  abun- 
dance of  gild'mgs.  There  are  gilded  chairs,  and  very 
wide  gold  frames  enclose  the  pictures.  These  consti- 
tute the  only  furniture  as  well  as  the  only  ornamenta- 
tion. The  lighting  is  from  three  chandeliers  shaped 
like  rings,  with  a  few  electric  lights  placed  at  a  great 
distance  apart.  At  the  ceiling  the  light  is  bright,  but 
considerably  less  so  below,  so  that  the  walls  seem 
grayish. 

The  ball  is  in  full  swing.     The  music  is  furnished  by 


196  THE    LIFE    OF    MAN         [SCEN 

an  orchestra  of  three  pieces.  The  musicians  resemble 
closely  their  respective  Instrument?;  the  violinist,  a 
violin —  lean  neck,  a  mall  head,  a  shock  of  hair  brushed 
to  one  side,  back  somewhat  bent,  a  handkerchief  cor- 
rect!// adjusted  on  his  shoulder  under  the  violin;  the 
flute- player,  a  flute  —  very  tall,  with  a  thin,  elongated 
face,  and  stiff,  thin  leys;  the  bass-violinist,  a  double- 
bats —  stumpy,  round-shouldered,  lover  part  of  hist 
bod  if  rcry  stout,  vide  trousers.  The  uncommon  effort 
with  vhich  the  musicians  play  is  painfully  cridcnt. 
They  beat  time,  swing  their  heads,  and  shake  their 
bodies.  The  tune  is  the  same  throughout  tJie  ball,  a 
short  polka  in  two  musical  phrases,  prod u ring  a  jolly, 
hopping,  extremely  insipid  effect.  The  three  instru- 
ments do  not  quite  keep  time  -with  one  another,  pro- 
ducing a  sort  of  queer  detachment,  a  raeant  .space, 
as  it  were,  between  them  and  the  sounds  which  then 
produce. 

Young  men  and  girls  are  dancing  dreamily.  All  are 
handsome,  distinguished-looking,  with  (/cod  figures. 
In  contrast  to  the  piercing  notes  of  the  inti\ie,  their 
dancing  is  smooth,  noisclcx*;,  light.  At  the  first  musical 
phrase,  they  circle  around;  at  the  second,  thai  grace- 
fully part  and  join  again.  There  is  a  slight  mannerism 
in  their  dancing. 

Along  the  walls,  on  the  gilded  chairs,  sit  the  Guests, 
stiff  and  constrained.  They  scarcely  venture  to  move 
their  heads.  Th-cir  lion  is  also  constrained. 

They  do  not  whisper  to  one  another;  they  do  not 
laugh,  and  they  scarcely  look  at  one  another.  They 
speak  abruptly,  as  if  chopping  out  the  words  of  a  text. 
Th<ir  hands  hanging  superciliously  over  their  laps 
make  their  arms  look  as  if  they  had  been  broken  at  the 


SCENE  m]         THE    LIFE    OF    MAN  197 

wrists.  The  monotony  of  their  faces  is  strongly  em- 
phasized. Every  face  bears  the  same  expression  of 
self-satisfaction,  haughtiness,  and  inane  respect  for  the 
wealth  of  Man. 

The  dancing  girls  are  all  in  white,  the  men  in  black. 
Some  of  the  Guests  wear  black,  white,  and  brightly 
yellow  flowers. 

In  the  near  corner,  which  is  darker  than  the  rest, 
Someone  in  Gray  called  He  stands  motionless.  The  can- 
dle in  his  hand  is  reduced  two-thirds  and  burns  with  a 
strong,  yellow  light,  casting  a  yellow  sheen  on  His 
stony  face  and  chin. 

THE    GUESTS'    CONVERSATION 

—  It  is  a  very  great  honor  to  be  a  guest  at  Man's 
ball. 

—  You  may  add,  it  is  an  honor  of  which  very  few 
have  been  deemed  worthy.     The  whole  city  tried  to 
get  themselves  invited,  but  only  a  very  few  succeeded. 
My   husband,  my  children,   and  I  are  quite  proud 
of  the  honor  Man  has  showed  us. 

—  I  am  really  sorry  for  those  who  were  not  able  to 
get  here.     They  won't  sleep  the  whole  night  from 
sheer  envy,  and  to-morrow  they  '11  say  nasty  things 
about  the  ball  and  call  it  a  bore. 

—  They  never  saw  such  magnificence. 

•  —  Or  such  wonderful  wealth  and  luxury. 

—  Or,   I   dare   say,   such   charming,   free  and   easy 


—  If  this  is  n't  gay,  I  should  like  to  know  what  is. 

—  Oh,  what  's  the  use  of  talking?     You  can't  con- 
vince people  consumed  by  jealousy.     They  '11  tell  us 
we  did  n't  sit  on  gilded  chairs,  absolutely  not. 


198       '  THE    LIFE    OF    MAN        [SCENE  ra 

—  They  '11  say  tliut   tin-  chairs  \\erc  of  the  common- 
est  sort,   bought    at    second    hand. 

—  That   tin-  illumination  was  not  by  electricity,  but 
just  by   tallow   candles. 

—  Say  candle  .stumps. 

—  Or  dirty  lamps. 

—  They'll  have  the  impudence  to  maintain  that  tin- 
mouldings  in  Man's  house  are  not  gilded. 

—  And  that  the  broad  picture  franu ••«  an-  not  made 
of  gold.     It  seems  to  me  I  can  hear  the  very  ring  of  it. 

—  You  can  see  its  glitter.     That  's  quite  .sufficient,  I 
should  think. 

—  I  have  rarely  had  the  pleasure  of  hearing  such 
music. 

—  It  is  divine  harmony.     It  transports  the  soul  to 
higher  spheres. 

—  I  should  think  the  music  good  enough,  considering 
the  money  paid  for  it.     It  is  the  best  trio  in  the  city. 
They  play  on  the  most  important  and  solemn  occa- 
sions. 

—  If   you   listen   awhile,   it   compels   your   absolute 
attention.     After  a  ball  at  Man's,  my  children  keep 
singing  the  tune  a  long  time. 

—  I  sometimes  think  I  hear  it  in  the  street.     I  look 
around  —  no  musicians,  no  music. 

—  What  I  like  especially  in  these  musicians  is  tin 
great  effort  they  make  when  they  play.    They  know 
the  price  they  're  paid  and  don't  want  to  get  the 
money  for  nothing.     That  's  very  decent  of  them. 

—  !  as  if  they  became  a  part  of  their  instru- 
ments, their  efforts  are  so  great. 

—  Or  as  if  the  instruments  became  part  of  them. 

—  How  rich ! 


SCENE  m]         THE    LIFE    OF    MAN  199 

—  How  magnificent ! 

—  How  brilliant ! 

—  How  rich ! 

[For  some  time  the  two  expressions,  "  How  rich! 
How  magnificent!  "  are  repeated  from  different 
parts  of  the  room,  uttered  abruptly,  like  a  bark. 

—  Beside  this  ballroom  there  are  fourteen  other  mag- 
nificent rooms  in  Man's  house.     I  have  seen  them  all. 
The  dining-room  has  such  a  huge  fireplace  that  you 
can  put  a  whole  log  into  it.     There  are  magnificent 
guest-rooms  and  a  beautiful  boudoir.     A  large  bed- 
room,   and    over    the    pillows    on    the    beds  —  just 
fancy !  —  canopies ! 

—  Why,  how  wonderful !     Canopies  ! 

—  Did  you  hear?     Canopies! 

—  Permit  me  to  continue.     For  their  son,  the  little 
boy,  they  have  a  beautiful  bright  room  of  golden 
yellow  wood.     It  looks  as  if  the  sun  were  shining 
into  it  all  the  time. 

—  He  is  such  a  fine  boy.     He  has  curly  hair  that 
looks  like  the  rays  of  the  sun. 

—  That 's  true.     When  you  look  at  him  you  wonder 
whether  the  sun  has  risen. 

—  And    when    you    look    at    his    eyes    you    think : 
"  Autumn  is  gone,  and  the  blue  sky  is  here  again." 

—  Man  loves  his  son  madly.    He  bought  him  a  pony 
for  horseback  riding,  a  nice  snow-white  pony.     My 
children  — 

—  Pray,  let  me  continue.    Have  I  told  you  yet  about 
the  swimming-pool? 

—  No.     No. 

—  A  swimming-pool,  a  perfect  marvel. 

—  What,  a  swimming-pool! 


200  Till:    Lin:    or    .MAN         [SCENE  m 

And  furt IHT  on  is  Man's  study,  full  of 
books,  books,  books.  They  say  he's  a  very  learned 
man. 

—  You  can  see  it  by  the  books. 

—  I  have  seen  his  garde -M. 

—  I  have  n't. 

—  It    was    entrancing,    I    must    say.     Imagine    an 
emerald-green     lawn    kept    beautifully    mowed    and 
trimmed  at  the  edges.     In  the  middle  a  path  of  fine 
red  sand. 

—  Flowers  —  even  palms. 

—  Yes.  ( \en  palms.     And  all  the  trees  trimmed  as 
carefully  and  precisely  as  the  lawn,  some  cut  in  the 
shape   of  pyramids,   others    in    the   shape   of   green 
columns.     There's  a  lovely  fountain  and  little  | 
ter  elves  and  deer  scattered  all  around  in  the  grass. 

—  How  rich ! 

—  How  magnificent ! 

—  How  brilliant! 

—  How  rich  ! 

—  Man  did  me  the  honor  of  showing  me  his  stables 
and  barns.     I  had  to  tell  him  how  much  I  admired 
his   horses   and   carriages.      I   was   particularly   im- 
pressed by  his  motor  car. 

—  Think    of   it,    he   has    seven    servants;     seven  —  a 
chef,  a  woman-cook,  two  maids,  gardeners  — 

—  You  forget  the  coachman  and  the  chaufl'em. 

—  Yes,  of  course,  the  coachman  and  the  chauffeur. 

—  And  they  themselves  do  nothing  at  all.    They  are 
too  fine. 

—  You  must  admit,  it  is  a  great  honor  to  have  been 
invited    to   Man's   ball. 

—  Don't  you  find  the  music  somewhat  monotonous? 


SCENE  m]         THE    LIFE    OF    MAN  201 

—  No,  I  don't,  and  I  'm  surprised  you  do.     Don't 
you  see  what  kind  of  musicians  they  are? 

—  I    should   like   to   hear    such   music    all   my   life. 
That 's   what    I   say.      There 's    something   in    that 
music  that  stirs  me. 

—  Me  too. 

—  Me  too. 

—  It  is  a  delicious  sensation  to  abandon  oneself  to 
dreams    of   happiness    under    the    influence    of    this 
music ! 

—  To    transport    oneself    in    fancy    to    the    astral 
spheres ! 

—  How  fine ! 

—  How  rich ! 

—  How  magnificent ! 
[These  phrases  are  repeated. 

—  I  notice  a  stir  at  that  door.     Man  and  his  Wife 
will  soon  pass  through  the  hall. 

—  The  musicians  are  working  away  for  dear  life. 

—  There  they  are ! 

—  They  're  coming !     Look,  they  're  coming ! 
[Man,  his  Wife,  his  Friends,  and  his  Enemies  ap- 
pear in  the  door  on  the  right,  cross  the  room  diago- 
nally to  the  door  on  the  left.     The  dancers  go  on 
dancing,   but   part    to   make   way  for   them.      The 
musicians  play  desperately  loud  and  out  of  tune. 
Man  has  aged  greatly.    His  long  hair  and  long  beard 
are  beginning  to  turn  gray.     But  his  face  is  manly 
and  handsome,  and  he  walks  with  calm  dignity  and 
an  air  of  coldness.    He  looks  straight  ahead  of  him, 
as  if  not  noticing  those  around  him.    His  Wife  has 
also  aged,  but  she  is  still  beautiful  and  walks  leaning 
on  his  arm.     She  too  seems  not  to  notice  the  people 


202  THE    LIFE    OF    MAN        [SCENE  m 

around  her,  but  looks  strait/lit  alund,  vith  a  rather 
strange,  almost  fixed  expression.  I'ath  arc  richly 
dressed. 

His  Friends  follow  direct  It/  l>chiiul  Man.  They  re- 
semble one  another  very  much  —  noble  faces,  high 
and  candid  foreheads,  honest  eyes.  They  walk 
proudly,  throwing  out  their  chests,  stepping  firmly 
and  confidcntliii  <ind  looking,  now  to  this  aide,  now  to 
that,  with  condescension  and  slight  disdain.  They 
wear  white  roses  in  their  buttonholes. 
Following  them  tit  ti  slight  distance  come  Alan's  Ene- 
mies, also  very  much  resembling  one  another  —  mean, 
cunning  faces;  low,  heavy  foreheads;  loii'i,  a/ie- 
1'ike  arms.  The//  walk  uneasily,  pushing,  bending, 
and  hiding  behind  one  another,  and  casting  sharp, 
mean,  envious,  sidelong  glances  from  beneath  lowered 
lids.  Yellow  roses  appear  in  their  buttonholes. 
Thus  they  pass  through  the  room,  slowly  and  in 
perfect  silence.  The  sounds  of  the  steps,  the  music, 
and  the  reclamations  of  the  Guests  produce  a 
sharply  discordant  noise. 
GUESTS'  CONVI  KSAIION 

—  TluTr    they    arc.     There    they    are.     What    an 
honor ! 

—  How  handsome  In 

—  What  a  manly  face ! 

—  Look !     Look  ! 

—  He  is  n't  looking  at  us ! 

—  He  does  n't  see  u^ ! 

—  We  arc  his  guesN! 

—  What  an  honor!     What  an  honor! 
—  And  his  wife!     Look!     Look! 

—  How   beautiful   she   is! 


SCENE  in]         THE    LIFE    OF    MAN  203 

—  How  proud ! 

—  I  tell  you,  just  look  at  her  diamonds! 

—  Her  pearls  !     Her  pearls  ! 

—  And  her  rubies ! 

—  How  rich !     What  an  honor ! 

—  Honor !     Honor !     Honor ! 

[The  same  phrases  are  repeated  again. 

—  Here  are  Man's  Friends ! 

—  Look,  look,  there  are  Man's  Friends. 

—  Noble  faces ! 

—  Proud  gait ! 

—  They  shine  with  the  reflected  splendor  of  his  fame. 

—  How  they  love  him ! 

—  How  faithful  they  are  to  him ! 

—  What  an  honor  to  be  one  of  Man's  Friends ! 

—  They  regard  everything  here  as  their  own ! 

—  They  're  at  home  here ! 

—  What  an  honor ! 

—  Honor !    Honor !    Honor ! 
[Same  phrases  are  repeated. 

—  And  there  are  Man's  Enemies ! 

—  Look,  look,  Man's  Enemies  ! 

—  They  walk  like  whipped  curs ! 

—  Man  has  subdued  them ! 

—  He  's  put  a  muzzle  on  them ! 

—  They  're  wagging  their  tails ! 

— They  're  sneaking  behind  one  another. 

—  They  're  pushing  one  another. 
-  Ha-ha !     Ha-ha ! 

[Everybody  laughs. 

—  What  mean  faces ! 

—  What  greedy  looks ! 

—  Cowardly ! 


204  Till-:    LIFE    <>F    M.\\        [ncm  ... 

Malevolent  ! 

—  They're  afraid  to  look  at  us! 

—  They  feel  we're  nt  home! 

—  Lot's  frighten   them. 

—  Man  'II  be  thankful  to  us  for  it. 
-Ho-ho! 

[They  shout  at  Man's  Enemies,  mingling  their 
shouts  :cith  laughter.  The  I-', tmmca  huddle  closer 
together  and  cast  sharj),  timid,  sidctcard  tjlances. 

—  They  're  going !    They  're  going ! 

—  What  an  honor ! 

—  They  're  going! 
-Ho-ho!     Ha-ha! 

—  They're  gone!     They're  gone!     They're  gone! 
[The  procession  disappears  through  the  door  on  in.- 
left.   A  pause  of  silence.   The  music  plays  less  loudly, 
and  the  dune  era  begin  gradually  to  fill  the  hall. 

—  Where  did  they  go? 

—  I   believe   they   went   to   the   dining-room,   where 
supper  is  being  served. 

—  I  suppose  they  '11  soon  invite-  us  in.     Do  you  see 
anybody  looking  for  us? 

—  Yes,  it 's  time  for  supper.     If  you  eat  too  late, 
you  can't  sleep  well. 

—  I  always  serve  supper  early. 

—  A  late  supper  lies  heavy  on  your  stomach. 

—  And  the  music  is  still  playing. 

—  And  they  're  still  dancing. 

—  I  wonder  they  don't  get  tired. 

—  How  rid  i ! 

—  How  magnificent ! 

-Do   you   know   for  how   many   guests    they   have 
prepared  the  supper? 


SCENE  m]         THE    LIFE    OF    MAN  205 

—  I  did  n't  get  a  chance  to  count  all  the  covers.     The 
caterer  came  in,  and  I  had  to  get  out. 

—  Could  they  possibly  have  forgotten  us  ? 

—  Man  is  so  proud,  and  we  are  so  unimportant. 

—  Don't  say  that.     My  husband  says  we  do  him  an 
honor  by  accepting  his  invitation.    We  are  rich,  too. 

—  When  you  consider  the  reputation  of  his  wife  — 

—  Do  you  see  anyone  looking  for  us  ?     Maybe  he  's 
looking  for  us  in  the  other  rooms. 

—  How  rich! 

—  If  you  are  not  careful  with  other  people's  money, 
it 's  easy  to  get  rich,  I  think. 

—  Oh,  now,  it 's  only  his  enemies  who  say  that. 

—  Well,  after  all,  there  are  some  very  respectable 
people   among  them.     I  must   admit  that  my  hus- 
band— 

—  It  is  late,  though. 

—  It's  clear  there  must  be  a  mistake  somewhere.     I 
can't  believe  we  've  simply  been  forgotten. 

—  Evidently  you  know  people  and  life  very  little  if 
you  think  so. 

—  I  am  surprised.    We  are  rich  enough  ourselves. 
• —  It  seems  to  me  someone  called  us. 

—  You  're  mistaken,  no  one  called  us.     I  don't  under- 
stand it.    To  be  quite  frank  —  why  did  we  come  to  a 
house  like  this,  with  such  a  reputation?     One  should 
be  very  careful  of  the  friends  one  chooses. 

A  LIVERIED  LACKEY  (appears  at  the  door) 

Man  and  his  Wife  beg  the  honored  guests  to  step 
into  the  dining-room. 

GUESTS  (rising  quickly) 

—  What  a  livery ! 

—  He  asked  us  to  come  in ! 


206  THi:    I.  IFF.    OF    MAN         ^ 


—  I  said   there  uui.st    he  u   mistake 

—  Man    is   so   good.      I'm    sure    In     hasn't    had    a 
dinner  to  sit  <lm\n  at  talilr  liinisclf. 

—  l)i<l  n't  I  say  someone  wns  looking  for  us? 

—  What  a  livery! 

—  They  say  the  supper  is  grand. 

—  Everything  at  Man's  is  done-  in  a  grand  style. 

—  What  music-  !    What  an  honor  to  be  tit  Man's  ball  ! 

—  Let  those  envy  us  who  — 

—  How  grand  ! 

—  How  magnificent  ! 

—  What  an  honor  ! 

[They  go  out  one  after  the  other,  repeating  the 
.  .last  phrases.  One  couple  after  the  other  stop  danc- 
inf/  and  follow  the  Guests  in  silence.  For  some  time 
a  single  couple  remain  circling  on  the  floor,  hut  they 
too  join  the  others  at  last.  The  musicians,  however, 
continue  to  play,  making  the  same  desperate  effort. 
The  lackey  turns  out  the  electric  lights,  learing  only 
one  light  in  the  farthest  chandelier.  The  figures  of 
the  musicians  are  vaguely  seen  in  the  dim  light,  sway- 
ing to  and  fro  with  their  instrument  a.  The  outline 
of  Someone  in  Gray  is  sharply  visible.  The  }l 
of  the  candle  flickers,  illuminating  His  stony  face 
and  chin  with  a  garish,  yellow  lit/Jit. 
He  turns  around  witlwut  raising  his  head,  walLs 
slowly  and  calmly  through  the  whole  length  of  tin- 
room,  and  disappears  through  the  door  through 
which  Man  passed  out. 

CUETAIN 


THE    FOURTH    SCENE 

MAN'S    MISFORTUNE 

A  large,  gloomy,  quadrangular  room,  with  dark 
walls,  dark  floor,  and  dark  ceiling.  There  are  two 
high,  curtainless  windows  with  eight  panes  in  the  rear 
wall,  and  between  them  a  small,  low  door.  Two  similar 
windows  appear  in  the  right  wall.  Night  glooms 
through  the  windows,  and  when  the  door  opens,  the 
same  deep  blackness  of  night  stares  into  the  room. 
In  general,  however  bright  Man's  rooms  may  be,  the 
vast  darkness  of  the  windows  engulfs  the  light. 

On  tlie  left  wall  there  is  nothing  but  a  small,  low1 
door  leading  to  the  rest  of  the  house.  At  the  window 
on  the  right  stands  a  broad  sofa  covered  with  dark  oil- 
cloth. Man's  desk  is  very  simple  and  poor.  On  it 
are  seen  a  dimly  burning,  shaded  lamp,  a  sheet  of  yellow 
paper  with  a  sketch  drawn  on  it,  and  a  lot  of  toys  — 
a  little  peaked  cap,  a  wooden  horse  without  a  tail,  and 
a  red,  long-nosed  clown  with  bells.  Between  the  wm- 
dows  there  is  an  old  dilapidated  bookcase  entirely 
empty.  The  visible  lines  of  dust  left  by  the  books 
show  that  they  must  have  been  removed  recently.  The 
room  has  only  one  chair. 

In  the  darkest  corner  stands  Someone  in  Gray  called 
He.  The  candle  in  his  hand  is  now  no  longer  than  it 
is  thick.  The  wax  is  running  over  a  little.  The  stump 


Till:    I. IFF.    OF    .MAN          [s<  i  m    [f 

bwrtu  wi:  <;/  //////,.  .v/*  a  r^d 

•AMU  on  //iff  stony  face  and  chin. 

The  onlii  remaining  scn'iint  of  Man,  <tn  Old  Woman, 
it  fitting  on  the  chair.  She  a  peaks  in  an  even  voice, 
addressing  an  imaginary  companion. 

OLD  wo  MAX 

Tlirn  !  Man  has  slipped  back  into  poverty.  He 
had  a  lot  of  valuable  things,  horses  and  carriages, 
and  cvi-u  an  automobile.  Now  he  has  nothing.  Of 
all  his  servants  I  am  the  only  one  left.  There  are 
still  some  good  things  in  hen-  and  in  two  other 
rooms.  There  's  the  sofa  and  the  bookcase.  Hut  in 
the  other  twelve  rooms  there's  not  a  thing.  They 
are  dark  and  empty.  Ruts  run  around  in  them  day 
and  night  and  fight  and  squeak.  People  are  afraid, 
but  I  'm  not.  It 's  all  the  same  to  me. 
An  iron  sign  has  been  hanging  on  the  gate  for 
so  long,  saying  the  house  is  for  sale.  But  no  one 
wants  to  buy  it.  The  sign  's  rusty  already,  and  the 
rain  has  worn  the  letters  away.  But  no  one  comes 
to  buy  the  house.  No  one  wants  an  old  house. 
maybe  someone  will  buy  it.  Then  we  '11  be  going  to 
look  for  another  place  to  live  in.  It  '11  be  a  strange 
place.  My  mistress  will  begin  to  cry,  and.  I  dare 
say,  the  old  gentleman  will  too.  But  I  won't.  It's 
all  the  same  to  me. 

You  wonder  what 's  become  of  all  his  riches.  I  don't 
know.  Maybe  it  seems  strange,  but  I  've  been  living 
with  other  people  all  my  life,  and  many  is  the  time 
I  Ve  seen  money  disappear,  quietly  running  off 
through  some  leak  or  other.  That  's  the  way  it  has 
happened  to  these  folks  too.  They  had  a  lot,  then 


SCENE  iv]         THE    LIFE    OF    MAN  209 

it  got  to  be  a  little,  and  then  nothing  at  all.  People 
came  and  bought  things.  Then  they  stopped  com- 
ing. I  once  asked  my  mistress  how  it  came  about. 
She  answered :  "  People  have  stopped  liking  what 
they  used  to  like;  they  have  stopped  loving  what 
they  used  to  love."  "  How  is  that  possible?  "  says 
I.  "  How  can  people  stop  liking  what  they  once 
liked  ?  "  She  did  n't  answer  and  fell  to  crying.  But 
I  did  n't.  It 's  all  the  same  to  me.  It 's  all  the 
same  to  me. 

People  say  they  are  surprised  at  me.  It 's  terrible, 
they  say,  to  live  in  this  house ;  terrible  to  sit  here  at 
night  with  only  the  wind  whining  in  the  chimney 
and  the  rats  squeaking  and  scuffling.  Ma}7be  it  is 
terrible,  I  don't  know;  but  I  don't  think  about  it. 
Why  should  I?  There  they  sit,  the  two  of  them, 
in  their  room,  looking  at  each  other  and  listening 
to  the  whining  of  the  wind ;  and  I  sit  in  the  kitchen 
alone  and  listen  to  the  whining  of  the  wind.  Does  n't 
the  same  wind  whine  in  our  ears?  Young  folks  used 
to  come  to  see  their  son,  and  they  would  all  laugh 
and  sing  and  go  through  the  empty  rooms  to  chase 
the  rats.  But  nobody  comes  to  me,  and  I  sit  alone, 
all  alone.  There  's  ^no  one  to  talk  to,  so  I  talk  to 
myself,  and  it 's  all  the  same  to  me. 
I  'm  sure  they  had  a  hard  enough  time  of  it  —  no 
need  of  more  ill  luck.  But  three  days  ago  another 
misfortune  happened  to  them.  The  young  gentle- 
man went  out  walking,  his  hat  cocked,  his  hair 
dressed  in  latest  fashion.  And  a  bad  man  went  and 
threw  a  stone  at  him  from  behind  a  corner  and  broke 
his  head  like  a  nut.  They  brought  him  home,  put 
him  to  bed,  and  now  he  's  dying  in  there.  Maybe 


210  Till-:    LIFE    OF    M  \\         [s<  <  n    .v 

lu- '11  n  :ul  live  —  who  knows?     The  old  ladv 

and  the  old  gentleman  cried,  and  then  they  j>ut  all 
the  hooks  on  a  wagon  and  sold  tin  in.  With  the 
money  they  hired  a  mi  I'M-,  bought  medicines,  and 
ii  Crapes.  So  tin-  hooks,  too,  were  of  some  good. 
But  he  docs  n't  eat  the  grapes.  He  does  n't  even 
look  at  them.  They  just  lie  there  on  tin-  di-.li. 
ju>t  lie  there. 

DOCTOR  (enters  through  the  outer  door;  his  fticc  look* 
red  and  his  manner  is  uneasy)  Can  you  tell  me  if 
I  am  in  the  right  place?  I  'in  a  doctor.  I  have 
many  visits  to  pay,  and  I  often  make  mistakes.  I  'm 
called  here  and  there  and  everywhere,  and  all  the 
houses  look  alike  and  the  people  in  them  are  all 
sad.  Have  I  struck  the  right  place? 

OLD    WOMAN 

I  don't  know. 

DOCTOR 

I  '11  consult  my  note-book.  Is  there  a  child  here 
choking  with  a  sore  throat? 

OLD    WOMAN 

No. 

DOCTOR 

Is  there  a  man  here  who  suddenly  went  insane  from 
poverty  and  attacked  his  wife  and  two  children  with 
a  hatchet?  Four  patients  in  all,  I  suppose. 

OLD    WOMAN 

No. 

DOCTOR 

Is  there  a  girl  here  whose  heart  stopped  beating? 
Don't  lie,  old  woman,  I  think  >he  is  here. 

OLD    WOMAN 

No. 


SCENE  iv]         THE    LIFE    OF    MAN  211 

DOCTOR 

Well,  I  believe  you.  You  seem  to  speak  the  truth. 
Is  there  a  young  man  here  whose  head  was  broken 
by  a  stone  and  who  is  dying? 

OLD  WOMAN 

Yes.  Go  through  that  door  on  the  left,  but  don't 
go  any  farther.  The  rats  will  eat  you  up ! 

DOCTOR 

Very  well.  They  keep  ringing,  ringing  all  the  time, 
day  and  night.  Here  it  is,  late  at  night.  All  the 
lights  in  the  street  are  out,  and  I  am  still  on  the  run. 
Often  I  make  a  mistake  and  enter  the  wrong  house. 
Yes,  old  woman,  I  do.  (Exit  through  the  door 
leading  inside) 

OLD  WOMAN 

One  doctor  has  already  treated  him,  but  did  n't  cure 
him.  Now  there  's  another,  and  I  guess  he  won't 
cure  him  either.  Well !  Then  their  son  will  die, 
and  we  '11  remain  alone  in  the  house.  I  '11  sit  in 
the  kitchen  and  talk  to  myself,  and  they  '11  sit  in 
there  keeping  quiet  and  thinking.  Another  room 
vacated,  another  room  for  the  rats  to  scuffle  in. 
Let  them  squeak  and  scuffle.  It 's  all  the  same  to 
me.  It 's  all  the  same  to  me.  You  ask  me  why  that 
bad  fellow  threw  the  stone  at  our  young  gentleman. 
I  don't  know  —  how  could  I  know  why  people  want 
to  kill  each  other?  One  threw  a  stone  from  behind 
a  corner  and  ran  away;  the  other  one  fell  in  a  heap 
and  is  now  dying  —  that 's  all  I  know.  They  say 
that  our  young  gentleman  was  a  fine  chap,  very 
brave,  and  very  kind  to  poor  people.  I  don't  know 
anything  about  it  —  it  is  all  the  same  to  me. 
Whether  they  are  good  or  bad,  young  or  old,  quick 


i  in:  I.IFK  or  .MAN       [SCKXE  i. 

or  (lend,  it  is  nil  the  same  to  mr.  ll  i-  all  tin  >  inn- 
to  inc. 

As  long  as  they  pay,  I  '11  stay  with  them;  and  when 
they  stop  paving,  I  '11  go  to  other  people  to  do  their 
housework,  and  finally  I  shall  stop  altogether  — 
when  I  get  old,  and  my  eyesight  gei>  poor,  so  that 
I  can't  tell  salt  from  sugar.  Thru  they  '11  turn  un- 
cut and  say:  "Go  where  you  please.  We'll  hire 
another  one."  What  of  it?  I'll  go.  It's  all  the 
>aiiie  to  me.  Here,  there,  or  nowhere,  it's  all  the 
same  to  me.  It  's  all  the  same  to  inc. 
[Enter  Doctor,  Man  and  his  Wife.  Roth  hare  aged 
greatly  and  arc  eoinjiletely  gray.  Man's  lotnj  Iiri.s- 
tliiH]  hair  and  beard  gire  his  face  a  leonine  (if>/>f<ir- 
ance.  He  walks  slightly  stooping,  hut  holds  h'm 
head  erect  and  looks  sternly  and  resolutely  from 
beneath  his  gray  eyebrows.  When  he  looks  tit  any- 
thing closely,  he  puts  on  large,  silver-framed  eye- 
glasses. 
DOCTOR 

Your  son  has  fallen  into  a  deep  sleep.     Don't  v 
him.     It  may  bring  on  a  turn  for  the  hetter.     You 
go  to  sleep  too.     When  one  has  a  chance  to  slee;» 
one  should  grab  it  and  not  stay  up  talking. 

Thank  you,  doctor,  it's  been  such  a  relief.  Will 
you  call  to-morrow  again? 

DOCTOR 

Yes,  to-morrow  and  the  day  after  to-morrow.  Old 
woman,  you  go  to  bed  too.  It 's  late,  it 's  time  for 
all  to  go  to  heil.  Is  that  the  door  to  leave  by?  I 
often  make  mistakes. 


SCENE  iv]         THE    LIFE    OF    MAN  213 

\He  goes  out.  The  Old  Woman  goes  also.  Man 
and  his  Wife  are  left  alone. 

MAN 

Look,  wife,  I  began  to  draw  this  while  our  son  was 
still  well.  I  stopped  at  this  line  and  thought  I  'd 
rest  and  resume  the  work  later.  See  what  a  simple, 
placid  line  it  is,  yet  horrible  to  look  at.  It  may  be 
the  last  line  I  shall  have  drawn  in  our  boy's  lifetime. 
What  malicious  ignorance  there  is  graven  in  its 
simplicity  and  placidity. 

WIFE 

Don't  get  excited,  my  dear.  Don't  think  those  evil 
thoughts.  I  believe  the  doctor  told  the  truth  and 
our  son  will  recover. 

MAN 

Are  n't  you  excited  too  ?  Look  at  yourself  in  the 
mirror.  You  're  as  white  as  your  hair,  my  old 
friend. 

WIFE 

Of  course,  I  am  a  little  excited,  but  I  'm  convinced 
there  's  no  danger. 

MAN 

Now,  as  always,  you  encourage  me  and  fool  me  so 
sincerely,  so  guilelessly.  My  poor  squire,  true 
guardian  of  my  dulled  sword,  your  knight  is  a  poor, 
broken-down  man.  He  cannot  hold  a  weapon  in  his 
feeble  hand.  What  do  I  see?  Our  son's  toys.  Who 
put  them  there? 

WIFE 

My  dear,  you  put  them  there  yourself  long  ago. 
Have  you  forgotten?  You  said  you  found  it  easier 
to  work  with  the  child's  innocent  toys  beside  you. 


2U  Tin:   i. in:   or   M  \\       [8<.vr.  .v 

MAN 

.  I  h:ul  forgotten.  But  now  it's  terrible  to  look 
at  them,  as  terrible  as  it  is  for  H  convid  to  look  at  in- 
.struments  of  torture.  If  the  eliild  dies,  his  toys 
will  remain  as  a  curse  to  the  living.  Wife,  wife, 
the  sight  of  them  is  terrible  to  me! 

•mi 

It  was  when  we  were  still  poor  that  we  bought  them. 
How  touching  it  is  to  look  at  them,  those  poor, 
dear  toys! 

MAN 

I  can't  help  it,  I  must  take  them  in  my  hands. 
Here  's  the  horse  with  the  tail  torn  off.  Hop,  hop, 
horsie!  Where  are  you  galloping  off  to?  I'm 
going  far,  far  away,  papa,  to  where  the  fields  are 
and  the  green  woods.  Take  me  along,  horsie.  Hop, 
hop,  hop !  Sit  down,  dear  papa.  And  there  's  the 
soldier's  cap,  the  cheap  cap  I  tried  on  myself  in 
fun  when  I  bought  it.  Who  are  you?  I  'm  a  knight, 
papa.  I  'm  the  bravest,  the  strongest  knight. 
Where  are  you  going,  my  little  knight?  I  'rn  going 
to  kill  the  dragon,  dear  papa.  I  'm  going  to  free 
the  captives,  papa.  Go,  go,  my  little  knight.  (The 
Wife  cries)  And  there  's  our  everlasting  clown,  with 
his  kind,  stupid  face.  But  how  ragged  he  i-,  a^  if  he 
had  come  out  of  a  hundred  frays.  Tinkle,  friend, 
the  way  you  used  to  tinkle.  What,  you  can't?  Only 
one  bell  left,  you  say?  Well,  I  '11  throw  you  on 
the  floor.  (Throws  down  the  toy) 

WIFE 

What  are  you  doing?  Remember  how  often  our 
boy  kissed  his  funny  face. 


SCENE  iv]         THE    LIFE    OF    MAN  215 

MAN 

Yes,  that  was  wrong  of  me.  Forgive  me,  friend,  for- 
give me.  (He  bends  down  with  difficulty  and  picks 
up  the  clown)  Still  laughing?  Don't.  I  '11  put 
you  away,  out  of  sight.  Don't  be  angry,  I  can't 
bear  your  smile  now.  Go  and  laugh  in  a  place  where 
I  can't  see  you. 
WIFE 

It  breaks  my  heart  to  hear  you  speak  like  that. 
Believe  me,  our  son  will  get  well.  It  would  n't  be 
just  if  the  young  were  to  die  before  the  old,  would  it? 

MAN 

Just?     Where  have  you  ever  seen  justice,  wife? 
WIFE 

Please,  dear  husband,  I  beg  you,  kneel  down  beside 
me,  and  let  us  both  pray  to  God. 

MAN 

It 's  hard  for  an  old  man  to  bend  his  old  knees. 
WIFE 

Bend  them.    You  should  —  you  must. 

MAN 

He    will    not   hear   me,    He    whose    ear   I  've   never 
troubled  with  either  praise  or  entreaty.     You  pray. 
You  are  the  mother. 
WIFE 

You  pray  —  you  are  the  father.  If  a  father  is  not 
to  pray  for  his  son,  who  is?  To  whom  are  you 
leaving  him?  Can  one  person  tell  the  same  things 
in  the  same  way  as  the  two  of  us  together? 

MAN 

Very  well.      Maybe  eternal  justice  will  answer  the 
prayers  of  an  old  man  who  bends  his  old  knees. 
[Both  go  down  on  their  knees,  their  faces  turned  to 


•JH;  Tin;   i.m:   or   MAX         CKXK  r? 


the  corner  where  the  Unknoirn  stands  motionless;  their 
(irms  arc  folded  orer  their  breasts  while  ///<•//  i>r<i//. 
•III!     MOTIII.R'S  PRAYI'i: 

God,  I  beg  von,  let  my  son  live.  I  c.'.n  multi-stand 
only  one  tiling,  I  can  say  only  one  thing,  only  one 
thing  —  God,  let  my  son  live.  I  have  no  oilier  \\onls, 
all  is  dark  around  me,  everything  is  falling.  I  under- 
stand nothing,  and  there  's  such  a  terror  in  my  hearl, 

0  Lord,  that  I  only  this  one  thing  —  God, 
let  my  son  live!    Let  him  live!    Forgive  me  for  pray- 
ing so  poorly.    But  I  cannot  pray  in  any  other  way. 
You   understand,  O  Lord,   I   can't.     Look   at  me  ! 
Just  look  at   me!     Do  you  see?     Do  you  see  how 
my  head  shakes,  do  you  see  how  my  hands  shake? 
But  what  are  my  hands,  O  Lord!     Have  pity  on 
him.     He  is  so  young  —  he  has  a  birthmark  on  his 
right  hand.     Let  him  live,  even  if  only  a  little  while, 
a  little  while.     He  is  so  young,  such  a  mere  foolish 
child  —  he's   still   fond   of   sweets.      I   bought   him 
grapes.     Pity  —  have  pity  ! 

[She  weeps  in  a  subdued  ~cfii/,  covering  her  face  with 
her  luindx.     M  dn  speaks  without  looking  (it  her. 
THE  FATHKR'S  PRAVI  u 

Here  I  am  praying,  you  see.  I  Ve  bent  my  old 
knees.  I  've  prostrated  myself  in  the  dust  before 
you.  I  *m  kiting  the  ground,  do  you  see?  Maybe 

1  have  sometimes  offended  you.     If  so,  forgive  me, 
forgive  me.     It  is   true,   I   was   haughty,  arrogant. 
I  demanded  and  did  not  beg.    Often  I  condemned  - 
forgive  me.     And  if  you  wish,  if  this  be  your  will, 
punish  me,  but   spare   my  son.      Spare  him,   I   beg 
you.     Not  for  mercy,  not   for  pity  do  I   pray   you. 
I  pray  for  justice.     You  are  old,  and  I  am  old  too. 


SCENE  iv]         THE    LIFE    OF    MAN  217 

You  will  understand  more  easily  than  I.  Bad  peo- 
ple wanted  to  kill  him,  people  who  insult  you  by 
their  deeds  and  defile  your  earth  —  bad,  heartless 
people,  who  throw  stones  from  behind  corners.  From 
behind  corners,  the  scoundrels !  Do  not  then,  I 
pray  you,  permit  the  fulfilment  of  this  evil  deed. 
Stay  the  blood,  give  back  the  life  —  give  back  the 
life  to  my  noble  son!  You  took  everything  away 
from  me,  but  did  I  ever  ask  you  like  a  beggar :  "  Give 
me  back  my  wealth,  give  me  back  my  friends,  give 
me  back  my  talent  "?  No,  never.  I  did  not  even 
ask  you  for  my  talent,  and  you  know  what  his  talent 
means  to  a  man.  It  is  more  than  life.  I  thought 
perhaps  that 's  the  way  it  ought  to  be,  and  I  bore 
everything,  bore  everything  with  pride.  But  now 
I  ask  you  on  my  knees,  in  the  dust,  kissing  the  earth : 
"  Give  back  my  son's  life."  I  kiss  your  earth ! 
[He  rises.  Someone  called  He  listens  indifferently 
to  the  father's  and  mother's  prayers. 
WIFE 

I  'm   afraid  your  prayer   was   not   humble   enough. 
There  was  a  certain  tone  of  pride  in  it. 

MAN 

No,  no,  my  wife,  I  spoke  well  to  Him,  the  way  a  man 
should  speak.  He  cannot  love  cringing  flatterers 
better  than  brave,  proud  men  who  speak  the  truth. 
No,  wife,  you  cannot  understand.  Now  I  believe 
also  and  feel  reassured  — in  fact,  I  am  happy.  I 
feel  that  I  too  still  signify  -something  to  my  boy, 
and  it  makes  me  glad.  Go  and  see  if  he  's  asleep. 
He  needs  a  lot  of  good,  hard  sleep. 
[The  Wife  goes  out.  Man,  with  a  friendly  look  to 
the  corner  where  Someone  in  Gray  stands,  picks  up 


218  THE    LIFE    OF    M  [SCENE  iv 

the  toy  clown,  play*  with  it,  tun!  j/hr.v  Us  ,«/  nose 
a  quick  kits.  At  that  instant  his  Wife  enters  untl 
Man  speaks  shamefacedly. 

MAN 

I    was   begging   his    pardon.      I    insulted    this    fool. 
Will,  how  is  our  dear  boy? 
WIFE 

He  is  so  pale. 

MAN 

That 's  nothing.     It  '11  pass  away.     He  lost  a  lot 
of  blood. 
won 

It  makes  me  so  sad  to  look  at  his  poor  shorn  head. 
He  had  such  beautiful  golden  curls. 

MAN 

They   had   to   be   cut   so   that   the  wound   could   be 
washed.     Never  mind,  wife,  his  hair  will  <rn>w  a^ain 
and  be  still  finer.     Did  you  keep  what  was  cut  off? 
Be  sure  to  keep  it.     His  precious  blood  is  on  it. 
WIFE 

Yes,  I  put  it  away  in  the  chest,  the  last  one  left  of 
all  our  wealth. 

MAN 

Don't  worry  about  wealth.  Just  wait  until  our 
son  begins  to  work.  He'll  restore  all  we've  lost. 
I  feel  well  again,  wife,  and  I  firmly  believe  in  our 
future.  Do  you  remember  our  poor  little  rosy 
room?  The  good  neighbors  scattered  oak  leaves  in 
it,  and  you  made  a  wreath  of  them  and  put  it  on  my 
head  and  said  I  was  a  genius. 
WIFE 

I  say  so  still.  Other  people  have  ceased  to  appre- 
ciate you,  but  not  I. 


SCENE  iv  ]         THE    LIFE    OF    MAN  219 

MAN 

No,  my  dear  little  wife,  you  're  wrong.  What 
genius  creates  outlives  the  old  dirty  bundle  of  rags 
known  as  the  body,  whereas  I  am  still  living,  and  my 
productions  — 

WIFE 

No,  they  're  not  dead  and  they  never  will  die.  Do 
you  remember  that  corner  house  you  built  ten  years 
ago?  Every  evening  at  sunset  you  go  to  look  at  it. 
Is  there  a  more  beautiful  building  in  the  whole  city, 
is  there  any  with  more  depth  to  it? 

MAN 

Yes,  I  purposely  built  it  so  that  the  last  rays  of 
the  setting  sun  should  fall  upon  it  and  set  its  win- 
dows aglow.  When  the  whole  city  is  in  darkness,  my 
house  is  still  taking  leave  of  the  sun.  It  was  well 
done,  and  perhaps  it  will  survive  me  a  little  while  at 
least.  What  do  you  think? 

WIFE 

Of  course,  my  friend. 

MAN 

The  only  thing  that  hurts,  wife,  is  that  the  people 
have  forgotten  me  so  soon.  They  might  have  re- 
membered me  a  little  longer,  just  a  little  longer. 

WIFE 

They  have  forgotten  what  they  knew,  and  ceased  to 
love  what  they  loved. 

MAN 

They  might  have  remembered  me  a  little  longer,  a 
little  longer. 
WIFE 

I  saw  a  young  artist  near  that  house.     He  studied 


220  TIIK    LIFE    OF    .MAN          [SCENK  iv 

it  carefully  and  made  a  sketch  of  it  in  his  skrtrh- 
book. 

MAN 

Ah,  why  didn't  you  tell  me  that  hrfoiv?  It's 
highly  significant,  highly  significant.  It  means  that 
my  ideas  are  accepted  and  handed  down  by  others, 
and  even  if  I  am  forgotten,  my  ideas  will  live.  It 
is  tremendously  significant. 

WIFE 

Yes,  my  dear,  you  arc  not  forgotten.  Do  you  re- 
member the  young  man  who  bowed  so  reverently  to 
you  on  the  stree!  .' 

MAN 

Yes,  that 's  so,  wife.  He  was  a  fine,  very  fine  youth. 
He  had  such  n  nice  young  face.  It 's  good  you 
reminded  me  of  his  bow.  It  has  sent  a  ray  of  bright- 
ness into  my  heart.  But  I  feel  sleepy.  I  must  be 
tired.  I  am  old  too,  my  dear  little  gray  wife.  Have 
you  noticed  it? 
WIFE 

You  're  just  as  handsome  as  ever. 

MAN 

And  my  eyes  are  bright? 
WIFE 

Yes,  your  eyes  are  bright. 

MAN 

And  my  hair  is  black  as  pitch? 
wii-  r. 

It  's  so  white,  so  like  snow  that  it 's  even  more 
beautiful. 

MAN 

And  no  wrinkles? 


SCENE  iv]         THE    LIFE    OF    MAN  221 

WIFE 

Yes,  there  are  little  wrinkles  on  your  face,  but  — 

MAN 

Of  course,  I  know  I  'm  a  beauty.  To-morrow  I  '11 
buy  myself  a  uniform  and  enter  the  light  cavalry. 
Yes?  (His  Wife  laughs) 

WIFE 

There,  you  're  joking  too,  as  in  olden  times.  But  lie 
down  here  and  sleep  a  little.  I  '11  go  to  look  after 
our  boy.  Don't  worry,  I  won't  leave  him.  I  '11  call 
you  when  he  wakes.  You  don't  care  to  kiss  an  old 
wrinkled  hand,  do  you? 

MAN  (kissing  her  hand) 

Go,  you  're  the  most  beautiful  woman  I  've  ever 
known. 

WIFE 

And  the  wrinkles? 

MAN 

What  wrinkles?  I  only  see  a  dear,  kind,  good, 
sensible  face.  Nothing  else.  Don't  take  offence  at 
my  stern  tone.  Go  to  the  boy,  watch  him,  stay  with 
him  like  a  quiet  shadow  of  gentleness  and  love.  And 
if  he  is  disturbed  in  his  sleep,  sing  him  a  song  as 
you  used  to  do.  And  put  the  grapes  nearer,  so 
that  he  can  reach  them. 

[The  Wife  goes  out.  Man  lies  down  on  the  sofa,  his 
head  toward  the  spot  where  Someone  in  Gray  stands 
immobile,  so  that  His  hand  almost  touches  Man's 
gray,  dishevelled  hair.  Man  falls  asleep  quickly. 

SOMEONE  IN   GRAY 

Man  has  fallen  into  a  sound,  sweet  sleep,  deceived  by 
hope.  His  breath  is  soft  as  a  child's,  his  heart  beats 
calmly  and  evenly,  bringing  him  relief.  He  knows 


THE    LIFE    OF    MAN         [SCENE  iv 

not  that  in  a  few  moments  his  son  will  »lir.  In  m\.s- 
ft -rioiis  dream-fancies  a  j)icture  of  impossible  happi- 
ness arises  l><  1'mv  him. 

It  seems  to  him  that  he  and  his  son  an-  drifting  in 
a  white  boat  along  a  beautiful,  quirt  stream.  It 
ins  to  him  that  it  is  a  glorious  day,  and  he  sees 
the  deep  sky  and  the  transparent  crystal  water.  He 
hears  the  rustling  of  the  reeds  as  they  part  before 
tln>  boat.  It  seems  to  him  that  he  is  happy  and  glad. 
All  his  fen-lings  betray  him. 

Suddenly  he  is  disturbed.  The  terrible  truth  has 
entered  through  the  thick  veil  of  sleep  and  stung  his 
thoughts. 

"  Why  is  your  golden  hair  cut  so  short,  my  boy? 
Win 

"  I  had  a  headache,  papa,  that 's  why." 
And  deceived  once  more,  he  feels  happy  again,  sees 
the  deep  sky,  and  hears  the  rustling  of  the  parting 
reeds. 

Ih-  knows  not  that  his  son  is  already  dying.     II< 
hears  not  how,  in  a  last  senseless  hope,  with  a  child's 
faith  in  the  power  of  adults,  his  son  is  calling  him 
without  words,  with  his  heart:  "Papa,  papa,  I  am 
dying!       Hold    me!"       Man    sleeps    soundly     und 
sweetly,  and  in  the  deceptive,  mysterious  fancies  there 
arises  before  him  the  picture  of  impossible  happii. 
Awake,  Man !    Your  son  is  dead. 
[Man  lifts  his  head,  frightened,  and  rises. 

MAN 

Ha !  What  is  it?  I  thought  I  heard  someone  call  me. 
[At  that  moment  many  women  behind  tlie  scenes 
burst  into  a  wail — the  loml,  lomj-drawn  wail  over 
the  dead.  The  Wife  enters,  friyht fully  pale. 


SCENE  iv]         THE    LIFE    OF    MAN  223 

MAN 

Dead? 

WIFE 

Yes,  he  is  dead. 

MAN 

Did  he  call  me? 

WIFE 

No,  he  never  awoke.  He  did  n't  call  anyone.  He 
is  dead  —  my  son,  my  dear,  darling  boy ! 
[She  falls  on  her  Jcnees  before  Man  and  sobs,  clasp- 
ing his  knees.  Man  puts  his  hand  on  her  hand  and* 
turning  to  the  corner  where  Someone  in  Gray  stands 
indifferently,  speaks  in  a  sobbing,  but  terrible  voice. 

MAN 

You  insulted  a  woman,  scoundrel!  You  killed  a 
boy!  (His  Wife  sobs.  Man  softly  strokes  her  hair 
with  his  trembling  hand)  Don't  cry,  my  dear,  don't 
cry.  He  will  scoff  at  our  tears,  just  as  He  scoffed 
at  our  prayers.  And  you  —  I  don't  know  who 
you  are  —  God,  Devil,  Fate,  or  Life  —  I  curse  you ! 
[Man  speaks  the  following  in  a  loud,  powerful  voice, 
one  arm  about  his  wife  as  if  to  protect  her,  the  other 
arm  fiercely  extended  toward  the  Unknown. 

MAN'S  CURSE 

I  curse  everything  that  you  have  given.  I  curse  the 
day  on  which  I  was  born.  I  curse  the  day  on  which 
I  shall  die.  I  curse  the  whole  of  my  life,  its  joys 
and  its  sorrows.  I  curse  myself.  I  curse  my  eyes, 
my  ears,  my  tongue.  I  curse  my  heart  and  my  head, 
and  I  fling  everything  back  at  your  cruel  face,  a 
senseless  Fate!  Be  accursed,  be  forever  accursed! 
With  my  curses  I  conquer  you.  What  else  can  you 
do  to  me?  Hurl  me  to  the  ground,  I  will  laugh  and 


'1  III'     Lin:    OF    MAN         [SCENE  iv 

shout  in  your  face:  **  Be  accursed!  "  Seal  my  mouth 
with  the  clamps  of  death,  with  inv  last  thought  I 
will  shout  into  your  stupid  curs:  "Be  accursed,  be 
accursed!"  Take  my  body,  tear  at  it  like  a  dog, 
drag  it  into  the  darkness  —  I  am  not  in  it.  I  have 
disappeared,  but  disappearing  I  shall  repeat:  "Be 
accursed,  be  accursed!  *'  Through  the  woman  whom 
you  have  insulted,  through  the  boy  whom  you  have 
killed,  I  convey  to  you  the  curses  of  Man! 
[He  turns  in  silence,  with  fiercely  uplifted  hand. 
Someone  in  Gray  listens  passively  to  the  curses. 
The  flame  of  the  candle  flickers  as  if  blown  by  the 
wind.  Thus  they  stand  for  some  time  in  tense  silence 
confronting  each  other,  Man  and  Someone  in  Gray. 
The  wailing  behind  the  scenes  grows  louder  and  more 
prolonged,  passing  into  a  doleful  chant.  ^ 

CURTAIN 


THE    FIFTH    SCENE 

THE    DEATH    OF    MAN 

An  uncertain,  unsteady,  blinking  light,  so  dim  that 
at  first  nothing  is  distinguishable.  When  the  eye  grows 
accustomed  to  it,  the  following  scene  becomes  visible. 

A  long,  wide  room  with  a  very  low  ceiling  and 
windowless.  The  entrance  is  down  a,  flight  of  steps 
from  somewhere  above.  The  walls  are  bare  and  dirty 
and  resemble  the  coarse,  stained  hide  of  some  huge 
animal.  Along  the  entire  back  wall  up  to  the  stairs 
runs  a  bar  with  a  top  of  smooth  glass.  This  is  covered 
with  bottles  full  of  differently  colored  liquors  that  are 
arranged  in  regular  rows.  Behind  a  low  table  sits  the 
Bartender,  immobile,  with  his  hands  folded  across  his 
paunch.  His  white  face  is  blotched  with  red.  His 
head  is  bald,  and  he  has  a  large,  reddish  beard.  He 
wears  an  expression  of  utter  calm  and  indifference, 
which  he  maintains  throughout,  never  changing  his 
seat  or  his  attitude. 

Drunkards,  both  men  and  women,  sit  at  small  tables 
on  wooden  stools.  Their  number  seems  to  be  aug- 
mented by  their  shadows  dancing  on  the  walls  and 
ceilmg. 

It  is  one  endless  monotony  of  repulsive  ugliness  and 
desolation.  The  men's  faces  resemble  masks  with  the 
various  features  disproportionately  magnified  or  re- 
duced: big  noses,  or  no  noses  at  all;  eyes  staring 


226  Till:    I. IF1-:    OF    MAN          [SCENE  v 

savagely,  almost  starting  from  their  xocketx,  or  eyes 
narrowed  to  scarcely  visible  slits  and  points;  hu</e 
Adam's  apples  and  tiny  chins.  Their  hair  is  tangled, 
frowzy,  dirty,  covering  half  the  face  on  some  of  them. 
Despite  their  differences,  a  horrible  sameness  is  stamped 
upon  their  faces:  a  greenish,  ghastly  tinge  of  decay 
and  an  expression  that  appears  grotesque  in  some, 
gloomy  and  stupidly  timid  in  others. 

They  are  dressed  in  dull  rags,  with  here  a  bony  arm 
bared,  there  a  sharp  knee,  and  there  again  a  frightfully 
sunken  chest.  Some  are  almost  entirely  naked.  The 
women  differ  little  from  the  men,  except  that  they  are 
even  uglier  and  more  uncouth.  All  have  trembling 
heads  and  hands  and  walk  with  an  uncertain  step,  as 
if  on  a  slippery,  or  hilly,  or  sliding  surface.  Their 
voices,  too,  are  all  alike,  rough  and  hoarse.  They 
speak  as  uncertainly  as  they  walk,  as  if  their  lips  were 
frozen  and  refused  to  obey. 

In  the  centre,  at  a  separate  table,  sits  Man,  his 
gray,  unkempt  head  leaning  on  his  arms.  In  this  posi- 
tion he  remains  throughout  the  scene,  except  during 
the  one  moment  when  he  speaks.  He  is  dressed  very 
poorly. 

In  the  corner  stands  Someone  in  Gray,  with  the 
candle  burned  nearly  to  the  end.  The  slender  blue 
flame  flickers,  now  bending,  now  striving  upward  with 
its  sharp  little  tongue.  Its  blue  throws  a  ghastly 
glare  on  His  face  and  chin. 

THE  DRUNKARDS'  CONVERSATION 

—  Oh  my  !    Oh  my ! 

—  Look,     everything     is     swaying     so     strangely. 
There 's    nothing   to    rest   your   eyes   on. 


SCENE  v]          THE    LIFE    OF    MAN  227 

—  Everything  is  shaking  as  in  a  fever  —  the  people, 
the  chair,  the  ceiling. 

—  Everything  is  floating  and  rocking  as  on  waves. 

—  Do  you  hear  a  noise?     I  hear  a  kind  of  noise,  as 
if  an  iron  wheel  were  rumbling,  or  stones  falling  from 
a  mountain,  large  stones  coming  down  like  rain. 

—  It 's  the  ringing  in  your  ears. 

—  It 's  the  tingling  of  your  blood.     I  feel  my  blood. 
It  flows  heavy  through  my  veins,  thick,  thick,  black, 
smelling  of  rum.     And  when  it  gets  to  my  heart,  it 
all  falls  down,  and  it 's  terrible. 

—  It  seems  to  me  I  see  flashes  of  lightning. 

—  I  see  huge,  red  woodpiles  and  people  burning  on 
them.     It 's  disgusting  to   smell  the  roasting  flesh. 

—  Dark  shadows  circle  around  the  piles.     They  are 
drunk,  the  shadows  are.    Hey,  invite  me !    I  '11  dance 
with  you. 

—  Oh  my !    Oh  my ! 

—  I  am  happy,  too.     Who  will  laugh  with  me?    No- 
body.     So   I  '11  laugh  by  myself.      (He  laughs') 

—  A  charming  woman  is  kissing  my  lips.     She  smells 
of  musk  and  her  teeth  are  like  a  crocodile's.     She 
wants  to  bite  me.     Get  away,  you  dirty  hussy! 

—  I  am  not  a  dirty  hussy.     I  am  an  old  pregnant 
snake.      I  've   been   watching   a   whole   hour    to   see 
little  snakes  come  out  of  my  body  below  and  crawl 
around.     Say,  don't  step  on  my  little  snakes. 

—  Where  are  you  going? 

—  Who  's  walking  there  ?     Sit  down.     You  make  the 
whole  house  shake   when  you  walk. 

—  I  can't.    I  feel  awful  sitting  down. 

—  I  too.    When  I  am  sitting  I  feel  a  horror  running 
through  my  whole  body. 


228  TIIK    Lin:    OF    MAX  h«  . 

—  So  do  I.     I. it  mo  go. 

[Three    or   four    Drunkards    reel    aimlessly    about, 
I ut i  tu ti< fled  up  in  the  chairs. 

—  Look  what  it 's  doing.    It  's  boon  jumping  for  t\< o 
hours,  trying  to  get  on  my  knee.     It  jr,.-.!  nii>srs  by 
an  inch.     I  drive  it  away  and  it  conies  back  ng!i;n. 

—  Black   cockroaches  are  creeping  under   ir.y   skull 
and  buzzing. 

—  My  brain  is  falling  apart.     I  feel  the  gray  matter 
separating.      My   brain   is   like    rotten    cheese.      It 
stinks. 

—  There  's  some  sort  of  a  corpse  here.     I  smell  it. 

—  Oh  my!     Oh  my! 

—  I  '11  sneak  up  to  her  to-night  and  cut  her  throat. 

—  The  blood  will  flow.     It's  flowing  already.     See 
how  red  it  is. 

—  I   am   constantly   being   followed   by   three   men. 
They  are  calling  me  into  a  dark  corner  of  the  vacant 
lot,  and  they  want  to  kill  me.     They  are  already  at 
the  door. 

—  Who  is  walking  on  the  walls  and  ceiling? 

—  Good  Lord !    They  have  come  to  take  me. 

—  Who? 

—  They. 

—  My     tongue     is     getting    paralyzed.      I  '11     cry. 
(Cries) 

—  My  whole  body  is  coming  out.   I  '11  soon  be  turned 
inside  out,  and  then  I  '11  be  all  red. 

—  Listen,  listen.      Ho!     Somebody!     A  monster  is 
going  for  me.     He  's  raising  his  hand.     Help !     Ho ! 

-What  is  it?    Help!    A  spider! 
-Help! 
[For  some  time  they  shout  "  Help!  "  hoarsely. 


SCENE  v]          THE    LIFE    OF    MAN  229 

—  We  are  all  drunkards.     Let 's  call  down  all  the 
people  from  above.     It 's  so  disgusting  up  there. 

—  No,  don't.     When  I  leave  here  and  go  out  on  the 
street,  it  rampages  and  tears  about  like  a  wild  beast 
and  soon  throws  me  off  my  feet. 

—  We  've  all  come  here.    We  drink  rum  and  it  gives 
us  joy. 

—  It  gives  us  fright.     I  shiver  the  whole  day  from 
fright. 

—  Fright  is  better  than  life.     Who  wants  to  return 
to  life? 

-I  don't. 

—  I  don't.     I  'd  rather  croak  here.     I  don't  want  to 
live. 

—  No  one ! 

—  Oh  my !     Oh  my ! 

—  Why  does  Man  come  here?     He  drinks  little  and 
just  sits  still.     We  don't  want  him. 

—  Let  him  go  to  his  own  house.     He  has  a  house  of 
his  own. 

—  Fifteen  rooms. 

—  Don't  touch  him.     He  has  no  place  to  go  to  any 
more. 

—  He  has  fifteen  rooms. 

—  They  're  empty.     Only  rats  run  around  and  fight 
in  them. 

—  And  his  wife. 

—  He  has  n't  any.     Seems  she  died. 

[During  this  conversation  and  the  following,  Old 
Women  in  strange  headgear  enter  quietly  and  re- 
place unnoticeably  the  Drunkards,  who  quietly  de- 
part. The  women  mingle  in  the  conversation,  but 
in  such  a  way  that  no  one  notices  it. 


280  THK    LI  IT,    OF    .MAN          [«  ; 

<  <>N\  KBSATION   OK   Dili   NKAKDS   AM)   OLD    \V<>' 

—  He  '11  soon  die,  too.    He  can  scarcely  drag  himself 
along,  he 's   so    weak. 

—  He  has  fifteen  rooms. 

—  Listen  to  the  brat  ing  of  his  heart.     It's  uneven 
and  faint.     It  '11  soon  stop  beating  altogether. 

-Hey,  Man,  give  us  an  invitation  to  your  house. 
You  have  fifteen  rooms. 

—  It  '11  soon  stop  beating  altogether,  that  old,  sick, 
feeble  heart  of  Man ! 

—  He  's  asleep,  the  drunken  fool.     It 's  dreadful  to 
sleep,  and  yet  he  sleeps.     He  might  die  in  his  sleep. 

—  Hey,  there,  wake  him  up! 

—  Do  you  remember  how  it  used  to  beat  when  it  was 
young  and  strong? 

[A  low  laugh  is  heard. 

—  Who  's  laughing?    There  are  some  here  who  have 
no  business  to  be  here. 

—  It  just  seems  so  to  you.     We  arc  all  alone,  only 
we  drunkards. 

—  I  '11  go  out  on  the  street  and  start  a  fight.     I  've 
been    robbed.      I  *m   stark   naked,   and   my    skin   is 
green. 

—  Good  evening. 

—  The  wheel  is  rumbling  again.     Oh,  Lord,  they  '11 
crush  me!    Help! 

[No  one  ret  ponds. 

—  Good  evening. 

-Do  you  remember  his  birth?     I  believe  you  were 
there. 

—  I   must   be   dying.      Good   Lord !      Good    Lord ! 
Who  will  carry  me  to  the  grave?    Who  will  bury  me? 
I  '11  be  lying  like  a  dog  on  the  street.     People  will 


SCENE  v]  THE    LIFE    OF    MAN  231 

step  over  me,  wagons  will  ride  over  me.     They  '11 
crush  me.     Oh,  my  God!     Oh,  my  God!     (Cries) 

—  Permit  me  to  congratulate  you,  my  dear  friend, 
on  the  birth  of  your  child. 

—  I  am  positive  there  is  a  mistake  here.    For  a  circle 
to  fall  out  of  a  straight  line  is  an  absurdity.     I  '11 
demonstrate  it  on  the  spot. 

—  You  're  right. 

—  Oh  my !    Oh  my ! 

—  It 's   only  ignoramuses  in  mathematics  who  will 
permit  it.    I  won't.     I  won't  permit  it,  do  you  hear? 

—  Do  you  remember  the  rosy  dress  and  the  little 
bare  neck? 

—  And  the  flowers  ?    The  lilies-of-the-valley  on  which 
the  dew  never  dried,  and  the  violets,  and  the  green 
grass  ? 

—  Don't  touch,  don't  touch  the  flowers,  girls. 
{They  utter  a  low  and  suppressed  laugh. 

—  Oh  my !    Oh  my ! 

{The  drunkards  have  all  gone.  Their  places  are 
taken  by  the  Old  Women.  The  light  grows  steady 
and  very  -faint.  The  figure  of  the  Unknown  is 
sharply  outlined,  and  so  is  Man's  gray  head,  on 
which  a  faint  light  falls  from  above. 
OLD  WOMEN'S  CONVERSATION 

—  Good  evening. 

—  Good  evening.     What  a  splendid  night! 

—  Here  we  are  together  again.    How  are  you  feeling? 

—  I  cough  a  little. 
[They  laugh  suppressedly. 

—  It  won't  take  long  now.    He  '11  die  soon. 

— Look  at  the  candle.     The  flame  is  blue  and  thin 


•J.'i'J  TIN-:     I.IFi:    OF     MAN  [sci 

and  spreading  .sideways.     Tin-it-  's  no  inort-  wax.    It's 
onlv  UK-  wick  tluit  's  burning. 

—  It  does  n't  want  to  go  out. 

—  When  did  you  i-v»-r  M.    a  Maine  that  did  want  to 
go  out? 

—  Don't  dispute,  don't  dispute.     Whether  it  wants 
to  go  out,  or  does  n't  want  to  go  out,  time  is  living. 

—  Do  you  remember  his  motor  car?    He  once  almost 
ran  me  down. 

—  And  his  fifteen  rooms? 

—  I  was  there  a  little  while  ago.     The  rats  almost 
ate  me  up,  and  I  caught  a  cold  in  the  draught.    Some- 
one had  stolen  the  window  frames,  and  the  wind  was 
blowing  through  the  whole  house. 

—  Did  you  try  the  bed  in  which  his  wife  died?    Is  n't 
it  soft  and  nice? 

—  Yes,  I  went  through  all  the  rooms  and  let  my 
fancy  play  a  little.    They  have  such  a  pretty  nursery. 
It 's  a  pity  the  window  frames  are  knocked  out  there 
too,  and  the  wind  makes  a  racket  with  the  litter  on 
the  floor.     And  the  child's  bed  too  is  so  dear.     Now 
the  rats  have  made  their  nest  in  it  and  breed  their 
children   there. 

—  Such  dear,  naked  little  rats. 
[They  titter. 

—  And  in  his  study  the  toys  are  lying  on  the  table : 
a  horse  without  a  tail,  a  soldier's  cap,  and  a  n  d- 
nosed  clown.      I   played  a  little  with  them.     I  put 
on  the  soldier's  cap.     It  was  very  becoming  to  im •. 
But  there  's  such  a  lot  of  dust  on  the  things.      I 
got  all  dirty. 

—  But  did  you  go  into  the  drawing-room  where  the 
ball  was  given?     It's  so  gay  there. 


SCENE  v]          THE    LIFE    OF    MAN  233 

—  Yes,  I  did.     Fancy  what  I  saw.     It  was  dark,  the 
windows  were  broken,  and  the  wind  was  playing  with 
the  wall-paper  — 

• —  Making  a  sound  as  of  music. 

—  And  in  the  darkness  the  guests  were  squatting  on 
their  knees  at  the  wall  —  and  you  should  have  seen 
how  they  looked ! 

—  We  know. 

—  And  they  barked :   "  How  rich !   How  magnificent ! 
How  brilliant !     How  rich !  " 

—  You  're  j  oking,  of  course. 

—  Of  course  I  'm  j  oking.     You  know  I  have  a  funny 
disposition. 

—  How  rich !     How  magnificent ! 

—  How  gay ! 
[They  titter. 

—  Let  's  remind  him  of  it ! 

—  How  rich !     How  magnificent ! 

—  Do  you  remember  how  the  music  played  at  your 
ball? 

—  He  's  going  to  die  soon. 

— The  dancers  circled  about,  circled  about,  and  the 
music  played  so  gently,  so  beautifully.  They  played 
this  way. 

[They  make  a  semicircle  about  Man  and  hum  the 
tune  played  by  the  musicians  at  the  ball. 

—  Let 's   get   up   a   ball.      It 's   so  long  since   I  've 
danced. 

—  Imagine  that  this  is  a  palace,  a  magnificent,  an 
exquisitely  beautiful  palace. 

—  Call  the  musicians.     Why,  you  can't  have  a  ball 
without  music. 

—  Musicians ! 


284  TIIK    I. in:    or    MAN          [SCENE  v 

—  You  ri-mriuber? 

[They  ting.  At  that  instant  the  three  musicians 
who  played  at  the  ball  come  down  tlie  stairs,  'i In- 
one  with  the  violin  adjusts  his  handkerchief  on  his 
shoulder  with  great  precision,  and  all  three  be<jln. 
to  play,  making  an  exaggerated  effort.  But  the 
notes  are  soft  and  gentle  as  in  a  dream. 

—  There  you  have  tlu-  hall. 

—  How  rich !     How  magnificent ! 

—  How  brilliant! 

—  You  remember,  don't  you  ? 

[Singing  softly  to  the  music,  they  begin  to  circle 
about  Man,  imitating  in  a  wild,  monstrous  fashion 
the  movements  of  the  girls  in  the  white  dresses  who 
danced  at  the  ball.  At  the  first  musical  phrase  they 
circle,  at  the  second  they  join  and  part  gracefully 
and  quietly,  whispering: 

—  Do  you  remember? 

-You're  going  to  die  soon  —  do  you  remember? 

—  Do  you  remember? 
-Do  you  remember? 

-You're  going  to  die  soon  —  do  you  remember? 

—  Do  you  remember? 

[The  dance  grows  brisker,  the  movements  sharper. 
Strange,  whining  notes  miiujlc  into  the  singing  of 
the  Old  Women.  An  equally  strange  laugh  passes 
around  the  circle  of  dancers,  suppressed  and  quiet  at 
first.  As  each  one  glides  past  Man,  she  flings  an 
abrupt  whisper  into  his  ear: 

—  Do  you  remember? 

—  Do  you  remember? 

—  How  gentle !     How  exquisite ! 

—  What  balm  to  the  soul!     Do  you  remember? 


SCENE  v]          THE    LIFE    OF    MAN  235 

—  You  're  going  to  die  soon,  you  're  going  to  die 
soon. 

—  You  're  going  to  die  soon  — 

—  Do  you  remember? 

[They  circle  more  quickly,  their  movements  growing 
still  more  abrupt.  Suddenly  there  is  silence  and  they 
halt.  The  musicians  grow  rigid  with  the  instruments 
in  their  hands.  The  dancers  remain  fixed  in  the 
same  position  in  which  they  were  wlien  the  silence  fell. 
Man  rises,  straightens  himself,  throws  back  his  gray, 
beautiful,  terribly  majestic  head,  and  calls  out  in  a 
surprisingly  loud  voice,  full  of  sorrow  and  wrath. 
After  each  short  phrase  a  brief  but  profound  pause 
follows. 

MAN 

Where  is  my  squire?  Where  is  my  sword?  Where 
is  my  shield?  I  am  disarmed!  Come  to  me  quick! 
Quick !  Be  accurs  — 

[He  sinks  down  on  the  chair  and  dies,  his  head  fall- 
ing backward.  At  the  same  moment  the  candle 
flares  up  brightly  and  goes  out.  All  objects  are 
buried  in  a  dense  twilight  which  seems  to  be  descend- 
ing the  stairs  until  it  gradually  covers  everything. 
The  face  of  dead  Man  alone  remains  bright.  Low, 
vague  conversation,  whisperings  and  derisive  mock- 
ery are  heard  from  the  Old  Women. 

SOMEONE   IN   GRAY 

Silence!     Man  has  died! 

[Profound  silence.     Then  the  same  cold,  indifferent 

voice  repeats  from  a  remote  depth,  like  an  echo: 

Silence !     Man  has  died ! 

[Profound  silence.     The  twilight  thickens,  but  the 

mice-like  figures  of  the  Old  Women  are  still  seen 


THE    LIFE    OF    HAN          j 

stamliny  riy'nl.  Presently  tin  if  heyin  to  eiri'le  ulxmt 
the  dead  body  mutely,  quietly;  then  they  heyin  to 
ting  softly,  and  the  musicians  bcyln  to  play.  The 
gloom  thicken*,  the  music  and  the  song  grow  louder 
and  louder,  and  the  wild  dance  grows  more  unre- 
strained, until  finally  it  ceases  to  be  a  dance,  the  Old 
Women  merely  whirling  about  the  dead  man  arm  in 
arm,  stamping  their  feet,  screeching,  and  laugh iny 
a  wild,  prolonged  laugh.  Complete  darkness  de- 
scends. Only  the  face  of  Man  is  still  liyhted  up. 
Then  this  light  too  is  extinguished.  Black  impene- 
trable darkness  prevails. 

In  the  dnrkncss  are  heard  the  movements  of  the 
mad  ditncer.s,  their  screeching  and  laughter,  tnul  tin- 
discordant,  desperately  loud  sounds  of  the  music. 
Just  when  they  have  reached  their  highest  pitch, 
all  the  sounds  and  noises  withdraw  rapidly  some- 
where and  die  away.  Stillness. 

CURTAIN 


DATE  DUE 


